The Trickster's Fate
by LuminoSpirit
Summary: The Avengers have been given the task of finding Spiderman, intent on having him join their cause. Peter isn't so sure, and slips through their grasp. But when disaster strikes, will Peter even have a choice anymore? Warning: Character death, mental illnesses (such as depression and PTSD), gore, and violence.
1. Investigators

**A/N) Hello! My name is LuminoSpirit. Thank you for choosing to read my very first Fanfiction story.** _(Oops, that sounded too Robot-y)._ **I'm not very good at writing yet, so please feel free to point out if something is too long, or you didn't understand something.**

 **Anyways, just to let you know, this story is set after TASM 2 and The Winter soldier. Yes, that is kind of vague, but you'll figure it out. You people are smart like that. Also, I'm going to try to shoot for a minimum of 2000 words for every chapter. Is this too much? Is it too little?** _(So many questions, you over nervous freak)._

 **I liked the idea of the 'Tom Holland Spiderman', but I also like that Spiderman came before Iron man. (Ironman? Iron-man? How do you spell that?) So I decided to smash them both together and hope for the best.**

Chapter One: Investigators

Steve Rogers awoke early in the Stark tower. He stretched widely, and finished his morning routine quickly, (which included dressing, and showering) as he was eager to begin training today. He felt full of energy, and was ready to face off against yet another punching bag. But first, he needed breakfast. He walked briskly down the hall to the lift, which he would use to get to the fiftieth floor.

Steve was on the fourtyseventh floor, which was basically a 'T' shaped hall. Despite Steve having the floor entirely to himself (unlike the others, who shared two floors to themselves) the floor had multiple bedrooms going off to the sides. (Just Tony showing off all of his money yet again).

The fiftieth floor was a mix of a kitchen, and a sitting room. There was also a couple of smaller rooms off to the side, one of which was a toilet, and the other was a small cupboard with brooms and buckets and other things one might find in a janitor's cupboard.

Steve pressed the 'Up' button as he entered the lift, and waited for it to reach the top. A few moments later, the top floor greeted him with a soft 'Ding!' and Steve continued to the adjoining kitchen to get some food.

He had expected it to be empty, however, the rest of his team appeared to already be there, save for Clint and Thor (who was back in Asgard). Natasha and Sam seemed to be in a deep conversation.

Agent Coulson was also there, with a folder. Steve frowned at that. He and the rest of the Avengers had been mightily surprised when Agent Coulson had seemingly returned from the dead. He rarely ever visited them since he had been reintroduced, but perhaps something dangerous was on the horizon.

Natasha, who was sitting on the countertop, waved him over. Steve nodded and sat on the chair next to her, with Bruce on his other side.

"Captain," Acknowledged agent Coulson. Steve returned the greeting, and the agent began to explain why he was here. "Okay, let's just cut to the chase. I assume you are all familiar with New York's 'Spiderman'."

The others nodded, but Steve wasn't so sure. He had seen the name once or twice on a newspaper called 'The Daily Bugle'. He nodded anyway, and decided to ask about it later.

"Well, to put it bluntly, we wantto find him." Coulson paused and pulled out a file from the folder he had been holding, which Tony quickly grabbed and began to look over it. "This is all the information we have on him. Of course, it would be easy to stage a crime to attract him, and then ask him." Here, agent Coulson sighed. "Or so we thought..."

Steve raised an eyebrow, scenarios going through his head. Had they tried that? Perhaps Spiderman had attacked them. Was he dangerous? If so, was that why they were trying to locate him? The Daily Bugle was not such a big fan of spiderman's, he had noticed. Was this why? "...Was anyone hurt?"

Agent Coulson quickly elaborated. "No, no. no one was hurt. He was just... not too keen on joining our cause."

Tony cut in before Coulson could continue. "So why are we lookin' for him then? He obviously doesn't like us." Coulson was about to answer, but Tony was just an endless stream of sarcastic questions. "And what if we catch him? We can't exactly force him to come to the tower. Unless we blackmail him. Can we do that? I could totally-"

"Tony, no." Growled Steve warningly. No one else seemed to be protesting, he noticed. Despite Coulson's rejecting look, Sam's raised eyebrow, and Bruce's disaproving face, none of them seemed to be about to protest, so Steve took the initiative.

"What? It's true! Blackmailing always works-"

"Tony! We can't blackmail people!" He protested exasperatedly. "If we want him on our team, we have to convince him reasonably."

At that moment Clint strode in, with Lucky at his heels. He had seemingly come from the toilet. (Steve briefly wondered if he took Lucky to the loo with him. Probably). "He's right you know." He agreed with Steve. Steve was happy that someone was finally seeing sense. "We don't have anything to blackmail him with." Steve's face physically fell into a disaproving frown. Sam imitated his look.

Coulson stopped the conversation before Steve had the chance to protest more. "Sorry, Stark, but we can't blackmail him. Cap's right, and anyway, we have a better idea."

Tony raised his eyebrows, having abandoned the blackmailing idea already. He had evidently been arguing for the sake of arguing, again. "What kind of an idea?" asked Bruce, who had been silent the entire time.

"Due to some of our observations, we have found that the webs he shoots from his wrists (known as 'webshooters' by the 'fans'), are actually mechanical." Tony paused at this, before a grin erupted onto his face. Steve had no idea what he was smiling about, but if it was Tony it was probably not a good sign.

"Therefore," continued Coulson, before another argument could break out. "We have come to the conclusion that he is exceptionally good at science." Steve looked confused. how would this information help?

Natasha seemed to understand though. "Right." She said. "That means all we have to do is find his age, and then we're well on our way." She smiled gleefully.

'Oh.' He thought, as he put two and two together. Spiderman was good at science- that meant that they just had to find all of the males in New York that were majoring in science. Steve frowned again; that did not really narrow it down much. There was alot of people in New York. Still, it was better than nothing.

"Yeah, yeah." Said Clint, who had already joined Natasha on the countertop, (much to Tony's distaste, Steve noticed). "But where's the idea in that? So we come a little closer in figuring out who he is. How are we going to get him on the team?" Steve began to wonder how long Clint had been listening from within the toilet.

Coulson smiled. "Well, he's a scientist right? Or at least a fan of science. Now, which two people in this room are the face of science?"

Steve sighed heavily when Stark grinned toothily. That was an unnecessary boost to his ego.

Peter sighed when he came up from his 'dumpster-dive' empty handed. Other than a few screws and bolts, he had found nothing of much use. Or nothing he could salvage, anyway. Still, screws and bolts were better than nothing.

Not only that, but he'd gone and cut his leg on a broken glass bottle. The cut wasn't too bad, and it wasn't bleeding that much, but there was a tear, and a small blood stain.

He braced his arms on the side of the dumpster, and lifted his body over the edge. He looked down at his suspiciously muddy trousers. His aunt May would hopefully not notice anything if he scrubbed the stains away from his room. Peter blanched when he saw a rotten banana peel on the back of his trouser-leg.

He quickly removed it from his leg, and continued home. His curfew started in about half an hour, (Which was eight o'clock) and that left him with five minutes to spare- if he ran. He pocketed his findings, and began to sprint. His cut wouldn't do much; he'd had worse.

Twentyfive minutes later, he was on his way back up the stairs to his and aunt May's apartment. The apartment building was too dingy to actually have a lift. And even if it did, said lift would probably collapse with one person on it. (Probably not Peter though. He had a sneaking suspicion that when he had been bitten by the spider, he had become noticably lighter. Whether that was because of his high metabolism, which left him always hungry for more. But he could not ask his aunt for more food; that would cost too much. The other reason was because it would be easier for him to move around quickly with less weight).

Peter shrugged the thoughts off and opened the door to their apartment with his key. "I'm back, aunt May!" He called as he slipped off his too-large shoes. Had she gone out? The door was locked.

As he stepped into the living room/Kitchen the scent of Aunt may's cooking hit him full force. Yep she was here. Wait... was that falafel?

All of the rooms were crushed together, except his room, and the bathroom. (His aunt slept on the sofa-bed in the livingroom).

"Hello, dear. How was school?" she did not really need to shout, because he was approximately five metres away from her in the squished apartment.

"It was good," he said as he went to the bathroom in order to find a cloth for his trousers. "Flash wasn't at school today- which is good." He mentioned as he stood on top of the toilet seat to reach the cloths. The downfall of being so small and light, was not being able to reach things that were higher up.

"Peter!" Scolded aunt May. "You should not be so nasty to boys in your class. He could be sick, then how would you feel? Mocking sick people." Peter almost fell off of the toilet seat when he heard his own aunt defending Flash Thompson. Then he remembered that she did not know about his... harsh treatment at school. (He didn't want to call it bullying; he felt that it would downgrade Spiderman alot to say that he was being bullied).

Then again, Peter felt alot different with his spider-suit on. It was almost as if he was an entirely different person. He had noticed that he acted completely different with his mask on. Perhaps it would not count to say that Spiderman was being bullied if Peter was the one being bullied.

He finally pulled a cloth down from the shelf above the toilet, by standing on the very tips of his toes. He went over to the sink to wet the cloth, before getting to work on the stains.

"Peter? Are you alright? You've been quiet for a while." asked aunt May, and he could hear her pulling out plates. This indicated that she was done cooking. "Food's on the table, by the way. Do come and eat."

"I'll be there in a minute, hang on a second." Said Peter, as he started on the second leg.

He could hear aunt May coming in his direction. "Do you need any help?" she asked, as she neared the bathroom.

Peter panicked. She did not need to see his mucky trousers, or the cut he had gotten from the broken bottle from the dumpster. "It's fine aunt May," he said and shut the door of the bathroom tightly. "You go eat, I'll be there in a minute."

There was silence for a moment, before aunt May agreed. "Alright. But if you need any help, you know where I'll be..." Peter detected a hint of hurt in her voice, and winced. He quickly finished scrubbing and joined her at the table.

The meal went by in tense silence. Aunt May had perhaps began to notice all of his increasingly terrible excuses, he considered in his room later that evening as he was waiting doing his homework. It was his favourite subject; science. He was better at robotics than anything, but genes came in at a close second.

He wondered if they would be in this position if uncle Ben hadn't died. Maybe they would still be in their old house. Maybe he and aunt May would still be on good terms if he was still here. Uncle Ben always had a way of getting rid of tension. In fact, Peter imagined Spiderman took after uncle Ben alot.

Yes, Peter wondered if they would be in this position, if Peter had not let uncle Ben die. Honestly, what kind of a nephew was he? Not only did he allow uncle Ben to die, but he was withholding important secrets from his aunt. His dear aunt who looked after him without question, who had taken him in and clothed and fed him when his parents had not been there.

He continued on his homework well into the evening until he heard his aunt settle into the creaky sofa-bed. With small, guilty grin atop his lips, he slipped out of his miniscule window, and prepared for another night of crime-fighting. He decided to forget about his tensing relationship with aunt May.

He was Spiderman now. And Spiderman was not one to be held back by the past. Spiderman looked forward to the future.


	2. Stalkers

**A/N) Hi! I'm back again. Already? Yeah, I know; I was surprised too. Anyway, Imma tell you why I'm here again.**

 **So I publish the last chapter a couple of hours ago. I turn off my computer for a while, you know, to do other things than the internet. (I know, crazy, right?) But I come back on about two hours later, and my inbox has six emails! SIX!**

 **Now this may not seem like much to you, but I am anti-social, and only get emails from Pintrest. Turns out, four people have reviewed already. Thanks alot! Not to mention the others who started following this story. Thank you all a bunch!**

 **Anyways, I have a question. I realized after I posted the first chapter that some things might not entirely follow the canon as much as I thought. If this is the case, Should I say it's an AU story? I dunno.** _(Me either)._

 **So, review responses! Go!**

 **Spiderman1fan: Yes, there probably will be. I don't want to spoil too much, though, so you'll have to wait, I guess. Sorry...** _(Don't be so apologetic)_

 **Guest: Um, you- the one who hoped I would update soon! Here I am! (Unfortunately, I probably won't be updating again until the Sunday after this Sunday. If that made sense)**

 **Guest of honour: Well, you may or may not be finding out this chapter...**

 **Batman111893: Yay! Does this mean you approve? I wasn't sure if I'd done his charector right**

Chapter two

Tony Stark was smart. A genius, as many people imagined. It was true, his intellect was fantastic, and his IQ was quite high, too. He managed to hold fantastically complicated conversations with Bruce Banner- one of the most famed scientists of their time. He had created J.A.R.V.I.S, an AI that seemed to actually comprehend human emotions. He was Ironman! He had created countless suits of armour and each were equipped with dangerous weapons that made most criminals cower in fear.

So, why? Why was he having trouble with one, measly, kid?

Spiderman. (Or Spiderboy, perhaps Spiderkid. Whatever). He had no idea how old he was, but from witnesses he knew that he sounded male and was about 5'4. He generally 'patrolled' around Queens, some parts of Manhattan, and sometimes surrounding areas.

This indicated that he lived in that area, but for all Stark knew, it could be a bluff. The kid was smart, if he had made those 'Webshooter' thingies. (Stark made a mental note to ask how he had made those- if they ever caught him). Then again, he could be double-bluffing. Or even triple bluffing!

Oops, he was already messing with his mind.

Stark sighed and leaned back into his desk chair, rubbing his forehead in a circle motion. He looked out the window of his 'messy' lab (as Pepper had comented earlier today) and saw that the moon was well into the dark sky. How had it gotten so late?

It had been one week since Coulson had visited them, and since then, Tony had gotten into a strict routine. He had not expected the challenge to be so hard- he was used to things coming easily, but it seemed that Spiderman could cover his tracks fairly well. The challenge was refreshing, and addicting.

He usually got up early to spar with Spangles and have breakfast. After that he would work on some side projects, and then have lunch. After which he would spend the rest of the day, and more recently night, too, examining everything he could find on the Arachnid.

Meanwhile, Hawkeye and Natasha would be out prowling the night, trying to find Spiderman. Maybe he had a routine. Was he a creature of routine, perhaps? If so, maybe the information could help in some way? Probably not, but he was grasping at straws here!

How could one bug get away from seven, mighty, Avengers? This was ridiculous! He was making them struggle without even trying.

... Or perhaps he was trying. Did Spiderman know that they were still searching for him? He knew that Coulson and some other agents had jumped Spiderman at some point. How long ago was that? He had not asked. Perhaps it was in the folder Coulson had given them.

He kicked off from his desk, taking advantage of the wheels on his chair. The unexpected cramp pain was enough to make him wonder how long he'd been sitting like that. He shrugged and decided to ask his only witness as he collected the folder. "JARVIS, how long have I been in here?"

He kicked back off to his original spot, in front of a computer with a clip of Spiderman saving the person who was shakily holding the camera. One of the only first-person clips that existed. You could faintly hear Spiderman's voice over the wind as he saved the person from a speeding truck. He mainly spoke in taunts and sarcastic quips, Stark noticed, almost like himself.

"You have been here for 573 minutes, sir. Do you wish to retire for the night? I can shut everything down for you." Tony waved him off; he could stay up for a few more hours.

"That's fine JARVIS. I'll stay up for a little while longer."

"But sir, miss Potts asked me to-"

"Chill, JARVIS. No one needs to know." Tony retorted. "'Sides, the only way she will find out is if you tattle tale, my dear old buddy JARVIS." He looked imporingly at one of the cameras in the room, knowing J.A.R.V.I.S would see it.

But there was actually a reason for him wanting to stay up, other than for the challenge, or S.H.I.E.L.D, or his team mates. No, Tony smelled something fishy in the air. Why would Coulson want Spiderman? There had to be a reason. They were doing just fine without another enhanced human. No one else seemed to notice the lack of reasoning, though.

Tony had narrowed it down to three possibilities:

Number one- They were paranoid. S.H.I.E.L.D wanted complete control over all of the vigilantes and superpowered beings.

Number two- They wanted to lock him up. The Daily Bugle was not a big fan of Spiderman, and they had lots of influence. Either S.H.I.E.L.D agreed with them, or the public had caused such a stir that they had to do something about it.

Number three- Something big was coming. S.H.I.E.L.D knew about a big danger and was preparing for it by collecting as many followers as they could.

Personally, Tony thought that the third one was the most possible. While S.H.I.E.L.D was paranoid, Spiderman wasn't doing any imediate damage yet. In fact, since he had appeared, crimes had gone down by quite a large margin.

Tony did not think that S.H.I.E.L.D could be so conceited as to believe a gossip paper. And there was not a noticable stir in the public as of yet. So, something dangerous was coming- or so he thought- but it was a very educated guess.

So not only was he trying to find Spiderman, but he was also trying to find out what S.H.I.E.L.D was hiding.

He glanced at the useless file he had pulled from the folder. It was 'all the information they had on Spiderman', asCoulson had said. Tony snorted. All it said was common knowledge- things you could get off of Wikepedia.

Tony sighed and looked back at the window, through which he could see the moon had risen noticably since he had last checked. He supposed his thoughts got a little carried away.

Tony stood up and stretched, making the kinks in his back pop loudly. "JARVIS, shut it all down, will you?"

"Of course, sir."

"Seen anything yet, Tash?" Hawkeye asked through the comunication device. They were currently looking for a certain Arachnid. No luck so far, but they had only been at it for, what? A week?

... Oh, who was he kidding! A week was long enough to at least have caught a plimpse of him. But no, there was nothing. It was almost as if he was actively avoiding them!

Honestly, the possibility was not low, considering two of the best assassins in the world were after him. Surely it could not have been accident that they had not seen even one bit of him?

Okay, this was a lie. They had seen some leftover web on a building, but did that really count? According to Coulson and Tony, the things were man made. Not something you could buy at your typical corner shop, either. Hawkeye sighed, but continued his mission. (Mission being: 'jump on all the roofs 'til you catch Spidey').

He was following a route that Bruce had set for them, using the data from the folder Coulson had given them. He was to turn left when he saw the Empire state building, which was only about five buildings in front of him.

When he reached the turning point, he suddenly realised that Natasha had not responded to his question yet. What did that mean? "Natasha?" He asked, holding his finger up to his ear. "Are you there, Natasha?"

There was silence for the most part, and Clint listened hard for her voice. The only thing he could hear was the traffic far beneath him, and the choppy wind breathing up his neck.

Then, he heard a quiet, almost indescernable voice through the comm, despite being lodged into his ear. "Target sighted." Was all she said, but it was enough information to get him excited. Finally, they had found him!

Then he whispered, just as quietly back, in case Spiderman had super spider hearing as well. "Where are you?"

The answer was not imediate, but Clint could tell that she was just being careful, trying not to blow her cover. "Coolidge Avenue, off of Union Turnpike. Hurry up!" She hissed lowly. Knowing Natasha's own route, Clint set off quickly, hoping not to miss this chance.

Peter had been getting it all week.

His Spidey-sense. It had been nagging him nonstop recently, like he was being followed. Which he probably was.

His Spidey-sense had never been wrong before, so he was sure this was no different. That meant he had had to be super careful recently. He had been on edge, even when he wasn't wearing his suit. Perhaps he was being paranoid, because he could not see anything around him. But you never really new in New York. Criminals everywhere.

For now, Peter ignored his Spider sense. He was getting tired of avoiding a person he could more than probably take down, so he continued the rest of his rounds as he normally would.

The person appeared to be following him still, but was not doing anything. Perhaps it was just some crazy fan. Some crazy fan who could keep up with him rather well. Peter frowned and snorted to himself.

Thing was, if the person was not a friendly, why was he or she not attacking him? He wasn't exactly out in the open, as most crimes happened in back alleys like this.

Speaking of which, he suddenly changed direction mid-air, hearing what sounded like a muffeled scream. He was there in no time, and no serious damage appeared to have happened yet, so he casually swung in behind the armed thug, without him noticing.

The girl the man had cornered physically relaxed when she saw him, and he grinned when the guy turned around slowly with a hint of caution. He looked so completely and utterly scared that Peter actually laughed.

"Aww, why the long face?" He asked, standing totally relaxed.

The thug just stared at him, eyes shimmering like a kicked puppy. "Aren't you happy to see me? I came down here just for you!" He said, before feigning a punch to his jaw, making the guy accidently drop his gun in order to protect himself.

Peter quickly grabbed the gun with one of his webs, but flung it at the man's side, so he was knocked out. He quickly webbed the guy up against the wall, before turning to check on the girl. But she had already bolted, so Peter shrugged and continued on his way.

He was only on his second web sling, when the person who had been following him finally attacked him, leaping so that he was body slammed onto one of the shorter buildings in the area.

He squeaked a little when they landed on cold, hard gravel, him taking most of the brunt of the fall. "Ow, ow, ow..." He mumbled absently, knowing that landing on his stomach like that had probably bruised a rib or two. The pain didn't stop his arsenal of witty comments, though.

"Took you long enough. I was getting tired of waiting to be jumped." He mumbled into the gravel, which his attacker probably did not even hear.

... Or two attackers, as right before him stood...

Hang on...

Was that... Hawkeye?


	3. Hackers

_Chapter two_

Spiderman had never expected to meet some of his idols this way. In fact, he doubted _anyone_ would want to meet their idols this way.

No one really wanted to be squished beneath someone's heavy weight, while being stared down with calculating eyes.

Then again, Peter was not sure what he envisioned when he saw himself meeting the Avengers. Perhaps it would be under a pressurised war, with aliens and death this way and that. Perhaps he saw himself sneaking into the Avengers' tower, to see them work. Or maybe S.H.I.E.L.D would kidnap him, and they would meet each other from behind cell bars.

He would not put it past them. This was S.H.I.E.L.D, after all. The organization that tricked him into helping out a serious mugging and attempted rape in order to get to him. Seriously, who sacrificed a young girl like that?

... He may or may not have stuck the offending agents to the wall with week-lasting webs, instead of hour-lasting ones. It had been a _'mixing up'_ of the two formulas. Honest.

Perhaps this was why Hawkeye was looking down at him with cold eyes right now. Or why he was being crushed beneath his partner in crime, whom he had not seen yet.

He decided to just shrug it off, and talk to them like he would anyone else. Cheeky quips and fun poking.

"Hey! It's birdbrain and his partner in crime," He twisted around from his position on the roof of the building. (That position being stomach down and arms twisted behind his back by leather gloved-fingers). He was only slightly surprised to see Black Widow on his back, an emotionless expression on her face. "Spidergirl!" He grinned beneath his mask even though they could not see it. His extensive observation skills alowed him to notice the miniscule twitch of her eye, before it was gone.

He rolled back onto his aching stomach. He was sure that he had at least bruised his ribs. Oh well, it would heal in about two or three days, anyway.

"How are things? Good, I hope?" He rambled, as if they were having a normal conversation.

Hawkeye blinked slightly, but quickly regained his posture, and tightened his grip on his bow, which was situated in his right hand.

"... We have business." Hawkeye said forcefully.

He opened his mouth to continue, but Spiderman quickly cut him off. "Oh, is this about that one time I 'accidently' shot webs at Widow? 'Cause I swear, that was totally-"

Black Widow promptly dug her heels into his sides, to which he responded by shutting his trap and letting out a small squeak.

"Ouch, that hurt." Spiderman murmured to himself. "Seriously, though," He insisted a little louder. "That _was_ an accident!"

Hawkeye seemed a little nervous. Was he infuriating her a little too much...?

... Nah.

"Anyway, how are things up in that tower of yours? I've been trying to break in there for _ages_." He said conversationally. "But seriously, machine guns? Isn't that a bit much? I got some serious scars from that!"

"Uh..." Hawkeye mumbled, eyeing Black Widow. "You should probably shut up about now." He whispered, so if Spiderman hadn't had super hearing, he might not have heard it.

"Really? You know this is actually a good-"

He was cut off by a warning buzz of his Spidey-sense. He quickly twisted his head to the side, so that he could avoid being hit by his captor. Fortunately, this was just what he had been aiming for, and he managed to roll out from underneath her.

He leaped up, avoiding a quick arrow shot that Hawkeye had aimed at him. He shot a glob of web at his face, temporarily blinding him. Then he flipped out of the way of Black Widow's taser, (thanks to his Spidey-sense) as soon as he landed.

Just as she was about to launch a throwing dagger (from her boot) at him, he shot a web at her arm, and then pulled her towards him. She quickly took advantage of that, and stamped his foot with her heel.

He let out a yelp and bolted a short ways backwards, so he was only a few feet away from the edge of the building. Before he could go any further (remember, his aim was to escape), Hawkeye shot another arrow at him, seemingly not needing to see to shoot a well-aimed arrow.

He bent over backwards to avoid the shot, and then used the momentum to perform a backflip. He decided that he needed to confiscate the bow if he wanted to escape. With a small smirk, he shot forwards to Hawkeye, without him noticing (thankfully).

He nicked the bow from his hands, and two arrows for good measure. He wasn't sure how dificult it would be to use a bow, but... he could learn.

He shot a plain black arrow at Black Widow from behind Hawkeye, which she easily dodged. He Shot the second one, which she also dodged, and leaped forwards, intending to go over the top of her teamate and land on Spiderman.

This didn't quite work out, because Spiderman took another arrow from Hawkeye's quiver, and stabbed her shoulder with it. The arrow sent an electric pulse over her, and she collapsed on top of Hawkeye, who was just about to grab Spiderman, having realised where he was.

Spiderman casually walked away from the bundle of two bodies. He stepped off the roof, but not before yelling a short 'goodbye!', before swinging away.

Yes, he idolized the Avengers. That didn't mean he liked them personally.

 _One month later_

Thor leaves earth. Often.

This is a fact. He does it alot; after all, he does have other planets to visit, royal stuff to do, etc. Again, this is a fact.

But... does Thor ever leave for half a year? I think not. He leaves for up to two months at a time- he had asked JARVIS for an estimate. So questions for all of the Avengers were: where was he? What was he doing? Did he need help? Was he in trouble? How could they reach him? (Tony had actually been working on a comunitive system for that last one, but no matter).

Why was Tony thinking this over now of all days? Was he worried? Nope. Was there even a reason? Yes.

Spiderman.

... Yes, it was safe to say that Tony Stark was obsessed with Spiderman. No one- and I mean no one- had ever evaded him for this long. But he was determined. He _would_ find out who Spiderman was. He _would._

It had gotten to the point where even the normally stoic Romanoff was teasing him about his 'crush' on Spiderman. He doubted that once this was all over, and Spiderman was on the team, that they would let him live it down. Spiderman was sure to mock him, as well, if his snarky attitude from the News was anything to go by.

Anyway, back to the point. His theory was that S.H.I.E.L.D kicked Thor out (or Thor had left for some reason) so they could replace him with Spiderman. But then there was the issue that they would not really need to kick Thor out. There wasn't exactly a number limit on how many people could join the Avengers.

Tony sighed again, with increasing irritation, and the sun hadn't even set yet. He ran a hand through his hair roughly, making the base of his skull sting. He did not pay the pain any mind, though, and set back to work at his computer.

It was a few hours later when he decided that he would just hack into S.H.I.E.L.D's database and check out what had happened to Thor. Maybe they knew? After all, it might shut Spangles up about it.

Smirking widely, Tony started typing casually, asking JARVIS to take down some firewalls every now and again. It wasn't hard to hack in, but it did take a while to download.

He looked at the 'Top secret' files JARVIS had pulled up for him, with a bored expression on his face. He got in regularly enough that 'Top secret' was an every day thing now. Certainly not as interesting as it once had been when he first hacked in, when JARVIS was still young. Sometimes he missed that excitement, but that no longer mattered. This was incredibly fun, no matter the lack of adrenaline rush. He could shove it in Captain Furious' face later.

He glanced outside the window, guessing that it was only about nine o'clock. Although, he could not see the sky, due to (unpredicted, Tony thought with a scowl) storm clouds. He could hear the gentle pitter-patter of rain. He had never liked rain- why couldn't it be sunny and warm all of the time?

Tony was enjoying wading through his weight's worth of restricted files, when JARVIS decided to ruin his fun.

"Sir, a heat signiture is heading towards the tower at exceptional speeds. Should we take action?" Tony raised an eyebrow. Surely it was not an enemy that headed their way? No one would dare challenge them on home ground, especially after the battle of New York.

He got up, and walked over to a wall that was dedicated to glass, and only glass. This gave him an excellent view of the city, and sky. "Estimated landing time?" He asked, not turning away from the window.

JARVIS was quick to respond. "Two minutes, and twenty seven seconds. Twenty six, twenty five..."

"Okay, JARVIS. Pull up a count down clock, and alert the others." He paused, then, as a side note, he added "Also, make sure to calculate the trajectory."

"Of course, sir."

A part of the window beside him was ignited with white numbers, that were counting down slowly. It was already down to two minutes, but Tony was not worried. After the destruction of his previous tower, he had made sure that this one was practically indestructable.

The glass was thick, and bullet-proof. Only JARVIS could open the windows, by the command of only those registered as an Avengers tower resident. (This included himself, and the rest of the team. He would have included Mr. Furious, but he was too uptight. Seriously, whoever shoved that stick up his arse, please take it out again).

There was steel framework, which he had reinforced with detection lasers, cameras, and sometimes laser beams to attack enemies. The roof was not a blindspot, either, (he had made sure that there was none of those), as they were littered with hidden machine guns, so if you tried to land there without permission, you would be swiss cheese faster than you could say 'Blood stains don't come out easy'.

"Sir," JARVIS piped up as the clock hit one minute to go. "The heat signiture is estimated to land on the roof. However, due to the speed with which it is coming, It may end up on one of the lower floors." There was a brief flash of lightning, and only a few seconds later was there thunder. The storm was reasonably close...

Tony ignored the storm beginning outside and turned around, intending to go to the elevator. "Barricade the roof; make sure this tower does not go down." He said, with a bored tone, as if this was just another day in the Avengers' tower... which it was.

"Of course, sir. Should I tell the others to meet you on the roof?"

Tony grinend. "You know me so well."

 _Six months earlier_

 _"If you really loved me, you would set me free."_

 _"... Alright."_

 **A/N) Woo! Like I said last chapter, already here on Sunday! Yup!**

 **First of all, I'd like to do the disclaimer, 'cause I keep forgetting. So, for the past, present and future chapters, I DO NOT OWN SPIDERMAN OR THE AVENGERS!** _(Stop shouting, sheesh.)_

 **Can I just take a while to thank all of the people that decided to follow, favourite and review? Seriously, 25 follows already! And tonnes of Emails! Yay! I feel kind of important. ^.^**

 **Anyway, let's get back on track. I was kind of worried about that fight scene. It just seemed to come so slow. Was that just me? Also, I think I made Black Widow a little OOC.** _(You did. I can tell.)_

 **Also, I'd like to hear what you guys think about that heat signature. What (or who) do you think it was?**

 **I feel like I forgot to say something... but... oh well. See you next chappie!** _(Forgetful loser.)_


	4. Crookies

**A/N) Finally! Here it is!**

 **Yeah, I know, it took a while, and I had to restart it a couple times, but I did it! I finally managed it! I feel like I did pretty well, but eh. Who knows- my perception is skewed.** _(Yeah, no kidding)._

 **Anyway, I promised that I would explain why I changed the title now, so here it is: I changed the title because I had this thing going on where the title 'We could be' was actually taken seriously, and each chapter would be named after things that 'You could be'. (The last chapter was going to be 'Heroes' Like from the song, 'Heroes (We could be)') Which inspired me to start this story. (Don't own the song). Unfortunately, a little voice inside my head that I like to call 'Brackets' convinced me that it was a stupid and childish idea.** _(Are you talking about me? I think she's talking about me, you guys)._

 **I dunno. If you guys like the idea, tell me, but if you don't, we can continue like this.**

 **Also, I'd like to mention that I made two unfinished one shots. They started out okay, but they became a mangled mess afterwards, so I won't be posting them. But, if you wanna read 'em, PM me, and I can E-mail you either (or both) files. You can do what you want with them... Finish 'em, Read 'em, Post 'em as they are. You can do what you want. But note that everyone who asks will get a copy, so if you post them, there might be some similar stories hanging about.**

 **Anyway, enjoy the story!**

Chapter four

 _Six months earlier_

 _Loki stared at his 'mother' in silence. The one who had raised him with love, despite knowing his heratage. His ice giant blood... the blood that ran through his veins. He was no Asgardian, and for fooling him that way, he was sure to pay them back._

 _But not his mother. She, despite being a different race entirely, cared for him. Even though they all hated him... she cared still. He did not think such a being could exist. He did not think a mother such as this could actually exist, no. But... she did._

 _Then he wondered... could he use this care and love for himself?_

 _"Mother..." he began, and she looked up from her melancholy thoughts. "Do you love me?"_

 _Slightly confused by the question, she nodded. "Yes, of course... No matter your blood, you are still my son."_

 _Loki shifted his weight onto his other foot, and put on his best innocent look. "If you really love me... then why do you have me locked inside this cell?"_

 _His mother sighed, and turned to look away. Her shoulders were slumped, and she appeared to be thinking deeply about something. Loki saw his chance, and took it. "W-why would someone who loved me keep me locked up like this?"_

 _His mother continued to look away, but he could see her shoulders shaking slightly. He felt bad for doing something like this to her, but if he wanted to escape, this was the only way. He pulled up the kicker. "... Why would a mother... do this to her own son?"_

 _His mother flinched, and raised her hand to her mouth, presumably trying to muffle the sobs. He could still hear them though; each one let off a quake deep in his heart._

 _"I'm-m sorry!" she cried, turning to look at him with pleading eyes. "I am s-so, so sorry!"_

 _Loki looked up at her, letting some tears fall down his cheeks. Not because what he was saying was emotional, but because his mother -the only one he cared about anymore- was crying. But it improved the performance._

 _"If... if you really loved me..." He said, fixing his eyes on hers, an unwavering stare that mutually captured both of them. "... You would surely set me free..."_

 _She stared at him in shock, before bursting into tearsand collapsing on the floor. Loki immediately swept over to her, and crouched at her side. She sobbed into his shoulder, and he began to regret his decision slightly. If he had to go through such mental strife to escape, what was the point?_

 _"Yes.." His mother mumbled softly. He couldn't believe his ears. Was she actually agreeing to let him escape? As if to confirm his thoughts, she continued louder. "Yes, alright."_

 _"... I will set you free."_

 **.o0|O|0o.**

When Thor had landed on their roof, Tony had been surprised.

He hadn't shown that, of course. This was Tony Stark we're talking about here. (He had a feeling that Romanov had noticed, though).

Thor had, of course, not busted through the extra layers of metal that he had asked JARVIS to lay on top of the building. (What? He liked to be prepared after the Chitauri invasion). He had made a reasonably large dent in some of the thick steel layers, though.

There was a difference between surprised and shocked. He had learned that today. Because, when Thor had said that Loki had escaped the prison, he had been shocked.

He hadn't let that show on his face either. But of course, Romanov had probably still noticed. She was a super ninja/secret agent/I don't give a flying fish spy, after all. Tony smirked at his own joke. (There was no one around to hear its awesomeness, so he had to make the most of it while he could).

Apparently Thor had been searching all of the worlds for Loki, and that was why he had been gone for so long. (Tony had pointed out that it might have gone faster if they had helped, but Thor had been adamant that he could find it with only his people. Turned out he needed their help after all...). Even Heimdall could not see him, which was worrying. Aparently. Tony had never met Heimdall, but Thor seemed to be convinced that he should be able to see _everything._

He had not been found in anyof the other worlds, so it was most definate that he was in Midgard. Currently, the Spiderman subject had been transferred to some other S.H.I.E.L.D agents, so that they could focus on Loki.

Tony had been at his laptop ever since, looking at every camera he could find; similar to what they had done before. This time, Tony was surrounded with blue tinted holograms with coloured video from all of the Stark phones and tech. (This included satelites and such).

But now Tony was bored. This was an emotion that he felt reasonably often; he was not a stranger to boredom. It wasn't any less boring, though. Nothing was happening!

Then something caught his eye. It was the recordings of a phone, which he could tell because it was slightly wobbly. Apparently, the person who owned the phone was in some sort of bank. The phone was in a back pocket, and the person was low to the ground, sitting probably.

What was interesting was that there was apparently someone with a gun there. This wasn't unusual, but the person appeared to be shooting up the bank. He was wearing a black balaclava, and a bulletproof vest.

Tony assumed that the person who owned the phone was a hostage of some sort. "JARVIS, gain full access to the phone on screen... 6247." He ordered. It was then that he remembered that he had an actual job to do. "Oh yeah... and let me know if you spot Loki anywhere."

"Right away, sir." Said JARVIS. The screen enlarged to take up the full space of the blue hologram. JARVIS even managed to get the mic in the phone to let them listen in. Tony continued to watch, wondering how it would go. He felt a grin begin to grow on his face when Spiderman appeared on screen.

 **.o0|O|0o.**

Spiderman looked down upon the situation with a smirk. He was in the average, everyday bank. An average, everyday shoot up was going on below him (he was in the air vent), and there was the average, everyday crooks (or crookies, as he liked to call them. Crookies, like cookies). With the average, everyday hostages.

Everything was average, and everyday, but Peter enjoyed beating up over-cocky bad guys. The shock in their eyes never got old.

Peter wondered how he should deal with the situation this time. He always liked to do something different when he rescued hostages, for a bit of variation. When one of the bad guys appeared right below him. His smirk widened as an idea popped into his head.

He quickly and quietly removed the grate he had been looking through, and glanced down at the scene one more time. There appeared to be only three crookies, and the one below him was guarding the hostages, every now and then ointing the butt of the gun at one of them.

One of the other ones was threatening the secretary for money, and the last one was taking out some of the last of the bodyguards. Something Peter had noticed when he looked down at them was that they all had military gear. He pushed the information away for later, but it did seem like they knew what they were doing (for once). Perhaps these people were actual military?

Peter shrugged to himself, and continued with his plan. He fixed a web to the roof of the vent, and attached the other end to himself. Then he started to lower himself down, mission impossible style.

He was well aware of how comical he was being, but he didn't care. In fact, he found himself rather amusing. Hilarious, even.

He silently grabbed the crookie once he was low enough, and sprayed his mouth with web. Then he sprang back up, and attached the guy to the ceiling. He grinned at the man, who was struggling in pure cartoon style, and suppressed a giggle. Then he stowed himself up in the vent again.

Back to the situation below. Crookie number three had finished up with the guards, and had turned around to look at the team mate that Spiderman had just tied up.

"... Hey Dave, where's Joey...?" He asked uncertainly looking around. Spiderman snorted amusedly. It was amazing how many people never looked up.

'Dave' (or crookie number two) looked up from what he was doing (namely stuffing green notes into his duffle bag), and also turned to where his friend had been. When he saw that no one was there, he called out, "Joey?"

There was a muffled shout from 'Joey'. It was quiet, but Crookie number three noticed. He looked around again, but then stood stock still when he noticed where his friend had been attached.

"Dave!" He said, looking scared for his life. Which was irrational, because Peter had never killed anyone. "He's up there!" And he pointed to Joey. Joey yelled in response again.

When Dave noticed Spiderman's signature webs, he paused in his stuffing of money. His face fell slack, and Peter grinned widely. He loved that face. Most of his face was covered but the ckassical signs of priceless shock were too noticable to miss.

"... Caspar..." He muttered lowly, looking around warily, "We have to go now." He whispered. Peter raised an eyebrow at how easily he would leave his team mate behind. Then he reminded himself- average, everyday. (Seriously, did they ever change?)

Caspar nodded, and put his gun back in its holster, before heading to the entrance way, with Dave close behind. This was where Spiderman intervened.

He dropped down onto the floor, and shot a web at the duffle full of money. He easily retrieved it from Dave's grip, and chucked it to the floor. The two crookies turned slowly around to look at him, identical looks of shock and horror on their faces. Peter looked mock hurt (even though they couldn't see behind his mask) and spoke; "Hey, why the long faces? I came to meet you guys especially for the occasion!"

Caspar was the first to recover, and lunged at him, having already taken the gun back from its holster. Peter grinned and shot a web at the gun and pulled it from his grasp, before he could even shoot one bullet. He playfully twirled the gun in his hand, waiting for Caspar's reaction, as he stopped and looked back up at him helplessly.

Dave didn't even bother trying. He shrugged and tossed the gun to the ground, putting his hands on his head. Caspar, seeing his friend giving up, sighed and did the same. "Aw, how nice of you." He said, genuinely relieved. He didn't want to hurt them any more than he had to. "That saves a lot of time, you know?" he mentioned, as he tied them up in web.

With that done, he swung back up to the vent, and replaced the vent, just as the police stormed the place from all sides.

 **.o0|O|0o.**

Peter had now returned home, with a few thrown out wires and old metal scraps. On the way back from the bank, he had dealt with two store robberies and attempted muggings, and one cop injury. The cop had just brushed against his leg with a bullet, but it was bleeding quite a bit, so he had had to stop on the way home and treat it.

Ever since the incident with his leg a couple of weeks ago, he had begun to carry around bandages, plasters, and a small bottle of first-aid alcohol. His leg was now clumsily bandaged, and he wished he still had Gwen to help him with injuries.

He tried to sneak through the house, but it appeared that aunt May had been waiting for him... at 10 o'clock in the evening. This wasn't too late, but he didn't really have an excuse for her. He had missed sinner for sure, and she was now worried, and their relationship was still tense, and...

Peter sighed, as aunt May silently handed him his cold dinner. She looked at him with a mixture of worry, confusion, frustration, and even some sadness. Peter felt guilt bombard him from all sides and turned away quickly. He didn't want to see that look on his aunt's face.

"Peter... look at me." She said, but Peter couldn't bring himself. He didn't want to look into those eyes of pure devastation. He did _not want to look_ but... he had to. She had asked in that way that broke down the layers of stubborness that he harboured.

He slowly turned, but he didn't dare look into her eyes, for his own selfish conscience. He didn't want to see the dissapointment that she would no doubt look down at him with. He knew that he couldn't tell her his secret, but he always imagined what life would be like if he did.

Would she feel sorrow, dissapointment? Would she feel like he hadn't become what she had brought him up to do?

Would she look at him with trepidation, and worry? Would she try to stop him? Would life be easier?

He didn't know the answer to those questions, but... he knew that she would be in danger. Hedidn't know if she could manage to be as tight-lipped as he was. (He hated doubting her, but he had to consider everything). She would be more worried to the point that it could drive her insane, and he would never want to put her through the stress of having _Spiderman_ as her nephew.

"Peter, please tell me what you were doing..." She begged, and he could tell that she was staring at him, but he didn't want to _look_... "Please tell me what you do while you're not at home...?" It was more of a question than anything, and it sounded so lost and upset, but once again, he _could not tell her_. No matter how much he wanted to.

"I..." He said. And he knew that he could lie. He knew that he could tell her that he was trying to get a job, or that he was looking for more scraps... but... he didn't want to anymore. His eyes travelled slowly to look up into her eyes.

"I... can't... tell you..." He struggled to get out. Two voices in his head were arguing ever so loudly, and he didn't want it show.

His aunt stared at him, her expression no longer anguished or scared, or curious. It was now much worse. The look on her face was absolutely, and utterly, blank. A part of him broke when he saw that.

She didn't speak again. She just left to the tiny living room that they owned, and went to bed, with that same look on her face.

Peter looked back down at the plate of cold food in his hands. He no longer felt so hungry, despite how high his metabolism was. He placed the food back in the fridge and went to his room.

That night, Peter went to bed, aunt May's look penetrating through the darkness of the night, and gripping him like a vice.


	5. Wake me up

**A/N) Here, have an upload!**

 **I'm feeling like my A/N's are too long, so I'm gonna keep this short. Also, thank you all for reading, reviewing, following, and favouriting! I don't say it enough, but it means a lot!**

 **Oh yeah, and this chapter is a bit short.**

 **Yeah, just so you know, you guys are either gonna be really confused, or really angry at me by the end of this chapter. Just so you know.** _(It was all her idea, I'm innocent!)_

 _Chapter 5_

Peter walked to school early that morning. It was another normal day today, and neither S.H.I.E.L.D nor the Avengers had bothered him since that one time with Hawkeye and Black Widow. Apparently they had decided to try and get him a different way. While he was wary about what kind of plan they had cooked up, he figured that he would deal with it when it hit him.

He decided not to think too much on it, and pulled the straps on his Jacksport bag forward. It was something he did on habit and instinct, from when he and Flash had been on less... pleasant terms. It was something he did when he got nervous.

When he reached school grounds, he paused on the outskirts, by the gate. He remembered being beaten up by that lunch table over there. That was the first time Gwen had stood up for him, and was partly responsible for him falling in love with her. He smiled slightly at the memory.

He continued walking, thoughts still on that time when he and Gwen had had one of their first conversations. He had gotten over her death, slowly but surely. It had been a long process, but he had Flash and aunt May with him the whole way, and he was really grateful for it. He was still recovering slightly, but now, instead of feeling sad when he remembered those times with Gwen, he felt himself swell with happiness.

Sometimes he had nightmares about that night, but he got over it, because he knew that Gwen would want him to move on. She wouldn't want him to be held back by her memory, she would want him to fall in love again, and find the love of his life. He knew that.

That didn't mean that he wouldn't see the ghost of himself and her where they had kissed, or where they had talked, or other places around the city where they had had encounters. Oscorp was especially effective when it came to memories of her. When he was Spiderman, he always avoided that building in particular, because sometimes he was hit with harsh memories of when they slew the Lizard together.

Usually he had to wait the memories out until they left him. Sometimes he would shout out things about what he was experiencing in public, and people would laugh or jeer. But sometimes there were nice people, who understood what he was going through. Mostly they were family members of PTSD victims, or sometimes even PTSD victims themselves. Peter had confessed to one, once, and they had told him that in order to get over it, you had to accept it.

He thought, at the time, that he _had_ accepted it. But now, he knew better. He couldn't accept it, and he wouldn't accept it. It was just a part of his stubborness... but it was fine that he didn't accept it. He felt like he could accept that he would not accept that she was gone. That was just fine for him. It was acceptance enough.

Peter walked through the halls of school slowly, and kept his head down. If he couldn't see the place where he had asked Gwen out, he couldn't experience the memories. He walked as he usually did through the school, and didn't look up until he reached his locker.

Once or twice, he had considered trying to move schools. But he couldn't ask aunt May for the money... he would just have to make do. Especially now...

At the thought of his aunt, Peter slumped slightly. He felt her blank stare behind him, watching his every step.

He knew that she wasn't actually there, but it didn't stop his mind from coming up with the feeling of being followed. The way his aunt had looked at him... he just couldn't shake it off. Ever since he could remember, her face had been a pool of emotions. Sometimes she was sad, sometimes she was happy, sometimes she was understanding...

And he could read her like a book. But that face... it was just so _unlike_ aunt May. and he could not get over it. He just couldn't.

He sighed and closed his locker door, and wandered over to class. He had changed a lot since Gwen's death, but he liked to think that it was for the better. Now he always got to class on time, despite his nightly activities. At first, his teacher had been worried, but she was probably just glad that he got there on time now.

Peter sat himself down at his usual seat, and got ready for the first lecture of the day. He felt the normal feeling of boredom as he began to hear the drone of his teacher's voce filled his ears.

 **.o0|O|0o.**

 _A few hours later_

"Sir," said JARVIS randomly, at nine in the evening. "Do you remember those files that we downloaded the day master Thor came back?"

Today Tony was absently fixing a chest piece for a new suit, while he and JARVIS were on the look out for Loki. Tony really wanted to know why he got the boring job, and the others got to go outside and be productive. Sure, sometimes interesting things appeared on screen (like the time with Spiderman and the bank yesterday) but that only happened every so often. And it wasn't like Loki would be stupid enough to be found so easily. He could transform himself into anything he wanted, for Pete's sake!

But here he was, stuck indoors, doing nothing but excessevely fixing and refixing parts of his suits. And watching the screens, of course, but he made JARVIS do most of that. "Yeah, I remember that. Why?" He asked, absently poking one of the screws into place with his screwdriver.

"Well, sir, you never finished reading those files, and you have been screwing and unscrewing that screw for the past hour, sir." Tony laughed. hearing JARVIS say 'screw' so many times was... fantastic. "I was wondering if you would like to continue reading those."

Tony sat back into his chair and rubbed his eyes. "Sure, I can read those."

JARVIS shoved the screens to the side of the hologram and pulled up some of the documents that Tony had been reading. He started again where he left off, enjoying knowing all of the secrets that S.H.I.E.L.D had. When he started on the next document, however, he became very intrigued.

The file contained hardly any words, but there was multiple video clips. They all seemed to be security camera footage tapes. Tony opened the first one, and watched what happened.

It was late at night, (about two in the morning according to the camera) and it was still dark. The camera was set in an office building, he noticed, and there was a lot of desks and chairs and files scattered everywhere. He noticed with pride that his offices were a lot tidier.

In the corner of the camera's screen, he could see a shady figure, rifling through some files. The figure darted around the room, but when he got close enough to the camera. He looked right up into the lense and smirked. He could now see the figure easily.

His skin wasn't really skin at all, but more some kind of blue electrisity molded into the form of a human. He was wearing a dark hoodie and jeans, so he looked kind of like a civilian, but it was evident that he was not.

Tony frowned. Wasn't this guy Spiderman's enemy? He blinked to himself, slightly confused. What was he doing at one of S.H.I.E.L.D's offices?

Even if he couldn't figure that out, he had a feeling he knew what was going on. Things started to slide into place, but he watched the next video just to make sure. Doctor Octopus. Then he watched the next. Venom...

He scrolled down to the bottom of the file, and read the few words that were there.

 _'Stolen: 0 item(s)_

 _Broken: 116 item(s)_

 _Casualties: 0 victim(s)_

 _Witness(es): 1 (Cameras)_

 _Criminal(s): Electro, Dr. Octopus, Venom.'_

 _This_ was why they wanted Spiderman. Huh.

So they had not only Loki, but most of Spiderman's enemies out there too. That was... just great. Tony sighed and ran a hand through his hair. How many villains were out there these days?

To Tony, it was pretty obvious that they had some kind of plan. Three had attacked, and yet, nothing was stolen. Sure, 116 things were broken, but he would bet his place on the Avenger's team that most of what was broken was just windows and building parts, not impressive pieces of equipment.

Tony yawned and stood up. He should go to bed early today- he was more tired than usual, and he had to muse over this new information. Should he tell the rest of the team? Should he tell Spiderman? Would that help with recruiting him? Did he even care?

He absently asked JARVIS to shut down the files and computers, and alert him if Loki appeared. (Again, he doubted that Loki would appear. A lot of villains were stupid, but Loki wasn't 'a lot of villains'. Loki was a _god_ ).

 **.o0|O|0o.**

Spiderman was on his way back from yet another patrol, late at night. It was now getting close to 1 o'clock in the morning, and he had to make up an excuse for aunt May, who was undoubtably still waiting for him. He sighed as he thought back to what had happened yesterday evening.

That look had been following him around all day today. And it probably would for the rest of his life if he didn't tell her soon. He had to tell her... he was convinced. He was going to move out in two years, and while that sounded quite a long time (which it was) he didn't want the rest of his time spent with his only living family member to be unpleseant.

Surely it would be better for the both of them if he told her? Maybe she wouldn't stay up so late waiting for him, maybe she would realise that he could take care of himself. Everything could be so much more simple if he just _told her._

And it would be nice to have someone to help with his injuries. He knew that his aunt May was getting on in the years, but her hands were steady, and she could probably sew a few stitches. (If she wasn't put off by all of the blood). Not only that, but his suit would be better sewn up if it got torn; she was always very good with clothes and stuff.

He would also have a giant weight lifted off of his chest. He wouldn't have to sneak bandages from the first aid box, (which he was sure that she should notice). He wouldn't be weighed down by the guilt of lying to her day after day...

It sounded perfect to him. Such a life, such a reality... It would be so easy, if he just told her his secret.

But alas, that is not how the world works. Call it Parker luck, Karma, whatever you want. But when Peter rounded the corner to his house, (in civilian clothes of course), he couldn't believe his eyes. He just stood there, mouth agape, limbs slack, and and face blank.

He stared down upon his home, eyes unseeing, and just looked. He couldn't see it. He _wouldn't_ see it. He would not look upon this, no- it was not real. It _could not be real...!_


	6. A needle to pierce my heart

**A/N) RECOMMENDED: LISTEN TO A SAD SONG TO SET THE SCENE!**

 **If you don't really know any, try 'Wake me up when September ends' by Green day, 'Terrible things' by Mayday Parade, 'If I die young' (Preferably the male cover), or just... any Tokyo Ghoul song. (E.g Glassy sky, White silence...) Don't own any of these songs.**

 **Sorry, I just had to throw this in here. It's in Peter's perspective BTW.**

I feel like my ears have been stuffed with cotton wool. I can no longer hear anything, but the muffled cries of my own voice. It tears me apart. How did I become so weak? How did I become so alone?

I want to blame someone... but there is no one to blame besides me. I did this... it's all my fault. I could have stopped it, but I was too selfish. I was out playing hero, too embarrased and scared to talk to her. I could have stayed... I know that I could have. The world is not so reliant on Spiderman as I think.

I should just leave saving people to the Avengers. They are older, and more qualified, and they don't let anyone close to them down. I will never be like them... I will never be strong, or nice, or kind.

I am evil. I might as well be a villain. In fact, I probably already am. All those people... Jameson, half of the world and all of the other superheroes. They are right... I am a menace. I should stop this, before even more people get hurt because of me. I will cut ties with Flash, and all of my teachers and classmates, and I will live my miserable life on the streets like I deserve.

I do not deserve death, that is too easy. I would be with the people whom I do not deserve, and whom are too good for me. I should live a painful and terrible life forever onwards.

I keep blaming things on Parker luck, but it is clear now that it was me all along. After all, Karma doesn't work unless you have done something terrible, and I have done plenty.

It is my fault that My parents are dead. They left because they knew that I was some kind of monster. I know this now. A needle pierces my heart.

It is my fault that uncle Ben died. If only I had stopped that thief when I should have. Instead, I let my uncle die right before my eyes, before I could even apologise. But I know now that I do not deserve forgiveness. Another needle pierces my heart.

It is my fault that officer Stacy died. I could have stopped the Lizard from killing him. I could have just not given that formula to Doctor Connors, but I was too selfish to realise what it would do to the city, and its people. I know now that I should not pursue my dreams of being a scientist. I am not qualified, or deserving of it. Another needle pierces my heart.

It is my fault that Gwen is dead. I should have been there faster. It should have been me that hit the floor of that clock tower. She did not deserve this death; she was too kind to go. It is my fault that I let such a pure and beautiful being die. I know now that I do not deserve love of any kind. Another needle pierces my heart.

I am too selfish to be alowed to live a life of peace and love. I will live a life worse than Hell, and I will die a death worse than the devil. This is what I deserve. This is what my life should continue to be, until the day I die. I am deserving of this.

I am too selfish to want it, but I am sentient enough to know that I deserve it. If I am lucky, perhaps, one day, I will be forgiven by the sins I have commited. But for now, I die alone.


	7. Interrogations

**A/N) Hey! So, Olympics started! Yeah!**

 _Chapter 6_

Peter gazed blankly up at the apartment building. The orange and red flickers of light licked at his face and chin, and he just stared. He didn't notice the police cars piling up outside of his home, or the fire engine or the ambulance. He just saw the gigantic, twisting, curling flames that ate up the place he grew up in. Devoured it. Consumed it. No remorse.

Peter could feel the heat from here... the undeniably sweltering heat. It confirmed that this was real, that it wasn't a dream. He couldn't bare it. He felt like a young child again, and his parents had just left him. Little did he know... they weren't coming back. It was just like that; so surreal, something that wouldn't happen to people like the Parkers. Because they were too normal- they were too _average_ to have something like this happen to them.

But it had happened. He could _feel_ the heat, he could _smell_ the ash, and he could _taste_ the flickering soot that flew with the light breeze towards him. He could even hear the snap and crackle, the sizzling, and that horrible _hissing_. But worst of all, he could _see_ it. He could see it all... he could see _all of it._

Suddenly he was alone on the street, and there was no busying people, or water-spraying firetruck. There was no howling sirens and frightened screeches of the people around him. All he could sense was the apartment. It was the only thing that existed in this black abyss...

He fell to his knees and sobbed loudly. In reality, he knew that there was other people here, but he didn't care. All the same, he stuffed a fist into his mouth, but didn't take his eyes off of the building. He just let the water blur his vision, let the tears spill out, onto his face and gather at the bottom of his chin. It was all too surreal, and he couldn't take it. He didn't want to take it. He was 16 for Pete's sake! He wasn't even out of highschool yet! He didn't need to deal with more death in his life. He wanted a break.

He could barely feel the sensation of being tugged lightly to his feet, and drawn towards an officer. Apparently a neighbor had recognized him as a resident of the apartment, and decided to bring him him forwards. Peter wouldn't mind too much, but one of the frst things the officer said to him was 'We'll take care of you'. Or something along those lines, anyway. Peter had wanted to laugh at that. He was a 'shoot on sight' criminal, according to the police. They didn't want to look after him!

After the first few words, Peter just zoned out. He wasn't even trying to seem like he was paying attention, he was just staring blankly at the fire behind the officer's shoulder. The firemen were doing a good job of putting it out, but even so, the flames flickered in the back of his mind, like a hypnotizing swirl.

He nearly didn't notice being lead to a police car, or the pitying looks. And he certainly didn't remember the car ride to the hospital. Everything passed by in a blur, like a fuzzy memory, or a hazy thought. It didn't occur to him until he woke up the next morning that his suit was still in his bag. Or that his bag was not on his back anymore...

The rest of the next day passed by quickly, and Peter didn't even bother trying to recall it. He remembered waking up in a white room, being taken to the police station, and being given some kind of lecture. He didn't really pay attention much, but he caught a few tidbits.

"Your in shock, Peter..."

"... You'll be staying with Mrs. Mason..."

"...You're very brave, Peter..."

"... Your aunt will be staying at the hospital..."

Peter nearly fell off his chair when he heard mention of his aunt. It snapped him completely out of his daze and he sat up completely straight, eyes trained completely onto the officer with undivided attention. The officer, (who he now realised was called 'E.W Rutland' with a flick of a glance at the nameplate on the desk in between them) gave him a weird look, and was just about to continue her speach, but Peter interrupted first.

"M-my... aunt?" He asked, almost afraid of what the answer could be. His voice cracked a little because of how little he had used it recently, but he wondered if fear had anything to do with it as well.

The female officer looked over at him with calculating eyes. "Yes, Peter. Your aunt was heavily burned in the fire-" She was interupted by the screach of chairlegs against the floor, as Peter leaped to his feet. She visibly winced at the sound, but curiously looked over at Peter.

It had not even crossed Peter's mind that aunt May could have been alive. As soon as he had seen the flames... He never imagined... He needed to see her!

"... Mr. Parker?"

"But then I can go see her, right?" He asked, staring urgently into her eyes with a pleading look.

E. W Rutland took a deep breath and let it out slowly through her nose. She had dealt with grieving children before. Most of them cried and cried and sobbed 'til their throats were raw and their eyes were glowing red. Some of them denied death like an atheist would god. And then there was those who were so used to death, that they didn't even bat an eyelid. (Such a reaction gave the officer an empty feeling deep in her stomach. It meant she hadn't been doing her job well enough).

Peter did none of these things. He cried, was devastated, and then stopped. He stopped, stared, and sat down. He didn't seem to notice anything at all. The officer had assumed that he was in shock, and that appeared to be the case, but what was he now? He didn't seem to be grieving. He looked determined and focused, so unlike what he had been moments ago.

"Peter..." She said calmly "You have already been to see her today." She wasn't sure how Peter would react to that, but she dearly hoped there would be no crying.

Fortunately there was no crying, but the look on his face said it all. _'How could I have not noticed that? How could I have missed that?'_ Peter collapsed back into the chair with a defeated look on his face, and stared down at his hands guiltily. "I..." He mumbled, but he never finished his sentence. He just let the word hang unpleasantly in the room. Had he really forgotton visiting his own aunt? How could he have? Was she really that unimportant to him, deep down? Silence consumed the two, until officer Rutland began to talk again.

Peter paid more attention this time, but his mind was still on other things. He tried to listen to how he would be living at a children's home for a while until his aunt got better. He would be living with 'Mrs. Mason' about seven blocks away from his school.

The officer finished off her speach and stood up. Peter followed, and mentally prepared himself for the rest of the day.

 **.o0|O|0o.**

Tony Stark was personally going to visit Ravencroft prison. After witnessing the tape recordings, Tony had looked up the current position of all of the villains, finding that all of them were, in fact, in jail. He couldn't quite believe this, so he made sure to pay them a visit as soon as he could.

Right now was as soon as he could, so Tony had decided to check it out. He had left Sam in charge of the surveilance systems (not trusting capsicle or Thor with such precious tech. Who knew what they could do to his incredibly valuable holo-screens? And also because Clint and 'Tasha were still out of town, looking for Loki). Instead, Cap-cap had been sent to some apartment building because of some 'freak fireball incident'. (According to witnesses a ball of fire had been aimed straight at the building. Personally, Tony thought that it sounded like a cry for attention from civilians. Maybe they hoped to catch a glimpse of the legendary Cappety-cap-cap)? Inwardly Tony snickered at the nickname, but never outwardly. There was a fanboy in the plane- he could tell by the way the guy jiggled from foot to foot nervously.

Tony was on one of Ravencroft's specially made plane. It was hard, cold, and grey, and that was about all that came to mind when you looked at the interior design. On the plane along with him was a pilot and his co, along with three guards, all of whom were armed with over-large guns that were probably only for show because of prisoner rights. But, Tony presumed, they could have some kind of sleeping dart inside. Or perhaps it was a taser in disguise? Tony was just preparing to have an amazing, incredible debate that included himself, a Bruce-voice and a Cappie-cap-voice when the Captain announced that they would be landing soon.

 _'About time.'_ Tony said internally. He casually glanced down at his watch. He had gotten on the plane a little under an hour ago. He knew he should have taken his suit instead. (He did have a suit that c

ould transform into a briefcase with him, but it would've been rude to launch in the middle of a plane ride. And Cap and Pepper would chew him out for it. Mostly because Cap and Pepper would chew him out for it, but whatever).

Absently, Tony took out a pen and a scrap piece of paper from his back pocket, and scribbled his name onto the paper. He replaced the pen and reached up to hold onto a metal bar that hung above his head. Just

in time for the lowering of the plane, and the shock of the landing.

As the back of the plane opened up, Tony strutted confidently passed the fan. He discreetly handed the guard the piece of paper and walked out with a business-like posture. He could hear the repressed squeal of not-so-manly delight. Tony smirked pleasedly and strode his way over to the entrance of the prison, waiting for access. He hadn't alerted Fury or anyone of his visit, (other than the Avengers), but he was counting on his status as an Avenger to allow him in.

Despite the incredibly high security, and the fact that he was being tailed by two stern-faced guards, he was allowed in simply by showing his face. And fingerprints. And eye retina, and... You know what? It didn't matter. Either way, he was now sitting in a chair, waiting for Otto Octavius, A.K.A Doc. Ock, A.K.A Doctor Octopus in a small concrete room with one barred window and a glass wall. How cliche. And gloomy.

When he entered, Tony was intrigued to see that not only did he have hand-cuffs over his hands, but also the metal tentacles that he had read about. Apparently this guy was a genius and had created the tentacles in order to help him out with research. Perhaps that wasn't enough for him, though, because he had turned into a super-villain. Tony wondered vaguely if he would have made business deals with such a man, had he not become so... villanious.

Anyway, the idea was that because he was the smartest out of all of the villains caught on tape, he would probably be the one that organized the whole thing. No one really knew for sure how they had escaped, or, in fact, why they had come back. Because despite having seemingly escaped, they were also still here. So an interrogation was in order, really.

Doc. Ock sat himself in the seat opposite Tony, behind the (bullet-proof) glass wall. He seemed relatively calm, despite the rumours circling around that he was insane and should be kept in a padded cell surrounded by concrete, steel, titanium, vibranium, and adimantium. And those are some very hard materials.

The guards didn't leave the room, but they did stand back a little for the most amount of privacy. Doctor Octo didn't even pause before he spoke in a bored tone. "Tony Stark."

"Otto Octavius." Tony said in return, in the same tone. Two could play at that game. "Not so nice to meet you, especially under these circumstances." He smirked.

Octavius scowled at him. "Why am I here?" He asked, cutting straight to the chase. Tony leaned back into his seat.

"Why," he said gesturing around with the same smirk on his face. "Can't geniuses hang out every once in a while?"

"No." Was the bland answer.

Tony sighed. "Fine. I'm going to interrogate you on some things." He stopped for a moment, hoping to get a rise out of the Doctor. After all, people revealed most truths when they were upset.

It seemed to work, because Otto's scowl deepened. "On _what?"_ He spat, not entirely curious, but wanting to get this over with as soon as possible.

Tony shrugged and leaned forwards again. "Why do you think?" He asked easily.

The meta-octopod growled and leaned forwards with his teeth clenched. "I. Don't. Know." He ground out, like it was difficult. And for a genius scentist, it was. Tony knew that from first-hand experiences.

"Well," Said Tony, all too pleased with Doc. Ock's reaction. He rolled his shoulders back in a relaxed manner, but gave the Doc what he wanted. "A couple of weeks ago, you were spotted- on camera -breaking into a government building." He was sure that S.H.I.E.L.D would not appreciate him blabbing about them, especially to a supposed deranged scientist. They were a secret corporation, after all. "I'd like to hear what you were doing that night."

"I was here." Said the Doctor, glaring straight at him. "I have witnesses. Are we done now?"

Tony rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The Doc wasn't stupid- he knew not to change his story. So he was probably not going to say anything much more of worth, plus, he was right. He did have witnesses, and camera footage on his side. Tony kind of wanted to hang around the guy more; maybe irritate him a little- make him bang his head on the glass wall. But he had better things to do, and who knew what the other Avengers could get up to while he was away. They were like children, really. Pepper said that was why he fit in so well...

"Sure. But I might pay you another visit soon, so..." Tony stood up. "Hang tight, Doc-to-Octo."

 **A/N) Yep. Lead you on a bit about that whole aunt May thing, didn't I? Sorry about that. Also, sorry to you who PM'd me. I was gonna tell you at first, but then I figured it'd be spoilers, so I didn't.**

 **Yeah, it was short. Yeah, I'm slacking. And yeah, the scenes were terrible. But, like I've mentioned before, other fandoms are calling to me, so my muse is in a low.**

 **Also! Thank you to the reviewer who told me how 'Spider-man' is spelled! Now I know.**


	8. Little voice inside my head

**A/N) Yeah, I'm sorry. This was really late. Some family matters came up. Stuff about whether we should move back to our homeland or not, and stuff like that. Anyways, I got a little distracted.** ** _But_** **, I did make this chapter a little longer, and Loki makes an appearance! Yay!**

 **Well, enjoy!**

 _Chapter 7_

It had been two weeks since the fire accident, and Peter was yet to work up the courage to visit aunt May. Mrs. Mason was willing to take him to the hospital, and the other children in the home said it would be a good idea to see her while he could. (Them being orphans).

But Peter wasn't sure... how could he face her now, after her reaction that night? Her blank stare still followed him everywhere he went, accusing him. _'Why are you leaving me here alone? Why are you keeping such secrets from me? Don't you trust me...? No. You leave me here because you are selfish, and you don't want to see your dear old aunt. You keep your secrets because you feel I am too... idiotic to understand! No, you don't trust me. And I don't trust you. You are a horrible nephew, and I regret ever taking care of you!'_

There was no way to escape the voices, the stare... it was there to stay. And it only got worse when he was Spider-man. _'So this is what you were doing? You stupid nephew! You would rather look after complete strangers than your own aunt? How typical of a selfish, arrogant, evil, villanious nephew! Nobody likes you! Do you think that they will like you if you continue to do this? No! You should just leave it to the police! You're still the same idiotic nephew!'_

And Peter couldn't even protest. Over the long fortnight that he had been away from his aunt, he had convinced himself that it was true. He was evil, and villanious... he was a waste of space. And as a result, he was becoming more and more quiet and distant to the people around him. He didn't mean to... he just _was._

Peter continued to go to school, but he didn't participate nearly as much. He just absently scribbled in his notebook... he didn't care if it was words or doodles, and he didn't notice much. He was too busy being tormented by the voice in his head...

He didn't talk to Flash at all, and if Flash tried to instigate a conversation, he just ignored him. Everyone around him was getting hurt, so there was no point in trying to further other relationships. In the end, they would all be hurt.

Every night, when his roomie (Thomas) was asleep, Peter would curl up into a ball, and sob himself to sleep. He made sure to always stuff part of his pillow into his mouth to stifle the sound. He didn't want to disturb the others in the home; they had been through enough already. Thomas was only eleven, and he was already an orphan- not only did this mean that his job as Spider-man was not helping children at all, but it also meant he was being a self-pitying, over-dramatizing idiot, once more. Here he was, pitying himself for the death of his uncle, while Thomas was trucking on through with no parents at all. At least he still had aunt May. For this reason, Peter did not want to disturb his slumber.

And just like he didn't want to disturb Thomas, he didn't want to disturb anyone else. It took a while, but he eventually worked out a timetable that would allow him to avoid mostly everyone. Every morning at five, he would wake up, have a shower, get dressed, and brush his teeth. He would then go out and be Spider-man until half six. He would change back into his mufty, and have a minimal breakfast, (usually consisting of only one cup of coffee and an apple), and would escape to school early before any of the other children woke up. Most of the time, Mrs. Mason would still be in the shower at this point.

He would leave at quarter-to-seven and arrive at school at twenty-past-seven. Then he would finish his homework for that day until school opened at eight-thirty. As soon as the gates opened, he would head in and seat himself right outside of class. He would ignore everyone until class started, and he would start scribbling in his book.

Then he would leave school at half two, do a few rounds of Spider-man until five, and go back to Mrs. Mason's. The only person that would be around at this time, (which he rarely was- he worked full time at Ravencroft prison, and stayed there most of the week) would be Mrs. Mason's son. Peter would once again eat a minimalist meal, (usually leftovers of some kind), and head out once more at quarter-to-six, as Spider-man. He would do this until nine, when he would drop in, (so no one queried about whether he had run away) and fauxed going to bed at half nine. By then, Thomas will have been asleep, and he went out as Spider-man once more. Finally, he would come back at two o'clock in the morning, giving him a total of three hour's of sleep every day.

On weekends, he spent all day as Spider-man. He really didn't want to be anything but Spider-man right now. Spider-man was strong, and didn't let things get him down. Peter Parker was... _weak._ And selfish, and- _'That's right, Peter. You sure are weak, and selfish. I'm glad I got at least one bit of common sense into that thick skull of yours.'_ Sneered a familiar voice. Peter didn't ignore it, but he didn't give it any more attention than it needed. That would no doubt only encourage it, and, because he was selfish, he didn't want to encourage it at all.

It was currently five-past-five in the afternoon, and he was in his civilian clothes, (namely an old pair of jeans and an Iron-man hoodie that he was yet to get rid of. He had become less and less fond of the Avengers and their merchandise since the incident with Black Widow and Hawkeye) on his way back to Mrs. Mason's house. Unlike when he still lived in the small apartment that he and aunt May shared (he did not miss the apartment- it was small, moldy, damp, and had no sense of privacy), he did not look in the dumpsters for scraps of metal. He went straight back to the home, with his hood up, and his head down.

When Peter went to open the door to the house, he was surprised to find it open. He slowly slid the door open, hesitantly, in case of burglars, but he had no need to worry. As soon as he opened the door, he was greeted with a friendly, "Hello, Peter!"

It was a male's voice, which he barely recognised, because he had only heard it once before. It had been on a voice-mail he had overheard Mrs. Mason listening to. It was Mrs. Mason's son.

Peter dawdled slightly on the doorstep, but slipped off his shoes and went straight into the kitchen soon after. "... Hi." He mumbled when he spotted the young male before him.

Peter didn't know how old he was, but he looked to be in his early-to-mid twenties. He had brown hair and hazel eyes, (like his mother) and a bristly chin. He was currently munching on a peice of dried apple, from the packet in his hand. He was smiling proudly to himself, like he had just won first place in a competition.

His grin only widened when he spotted Peter's hoodie. "Hey, Pete," Peter mentally wincd at the use of a nickname. He hardly knew this person; was he really already using nicknames already? He didn't even know this guy's name! "You like Iron-man?" He questioned.

Peter didn't. No, not any more- he used to admire him and his genious, along with Bruce Banner, but as he said previously, not anymore. They had gotten on his bad side recently. But Mrs. Mason's son's smile was so bright, he didn't have the heart to tell him that. He nodded slightly instead, and perched himself on the wooden table in the middle of the kitchen. He tried to look as friendly as possible, but he could feel his face fall into a small frown. The other in the room didn't seem to notice though, so he assumed it wasn't so bad.

"Well," said the son, and he paused a little, for dramatic effect. Before, earlier in the year, Peter might have felt the suspense, but now, he didn't really feel the need. In fact, he was more annoyed than anything. He wanted to get out and continue being Spider-man, not hang around in here. "You'll never guess who I ran into!"

Peter mentally rolled his eyes. Did he think that Peter was some kind of stupid kid? ( _'You are, though!'_ ) He went to Midtown Science High school! Why would he mention Iron-man at the begining of this conversation if it wasn't going in that direction?

But Peter put on his best earnest look, and leaned forwards, "Who did you see?" He asked, like he suspected Thomas might've at one point, before his parents had been killed. But when your parents die, strange things happen to you.

"I met... _the_ Tony Stark!" He said, with the brightest of all smiles planted firmly on his lips. Peter tried to imitate the look, or at least seem excited at the news, But his face was just not in the mood for happy things right now. "Now I know what you're thinking..." He continued, probably not noticing Peter's outer grimace. " _But Ricky_ , you don't have any proof!" Peter assumed that 'Ricky' was his name. 'Ricky' leaned forwards, and rested his chin on his palm with a proud smirk on his face. " _Well_ , Peter, as it turns out, I _do_ have proof!" He exclaimed, swiping a peice of scrap paper from his back pocket. Something was scrawled on the back in somewhat scrappy handwriting.

Now genuinely curious, Peter leaned forward further to get a better look. He could vaguely make out the words 'Tony Stark' written on it. "His... signature?" Peter muttered to himself.

"Yup!" said Ricky, and put the paper back in his pocket. "He gave it to me while he was visiting!" said Ricky excitedly. "I can't wait to show Jake! Did you know, he likes Iron-man too..." And then he started to ramble, so Peter blocked him out. He was still concentrating on that last part. Tony Stark had visited Ravencroft? Peter wondered why... Stark industries had never really shown interest in jails, even when they were still making weapons.

Was Tony meeting someone in the prison? Nah, that couldn't be it. He wouldn't associate with such people- it would put a dent in that _pristine, perfect_ , face of his. And, being the face of the Avengers, he couldn't really have that. They needed to be angels on earth, after all, Peter thought snarkily.

Okay, so maybe he held the tiniest of grudges.

 **.o0|O|0o.**

Loki raised a hand daintily to stare deeply at the watch on his wrist. Despite their stupidity, mortals really did make useful equipment; such as this 'watch', for example. It told him the exact time of day, and he didn't even have to look at the sun! It truly was an amazing tool, and he used it often.

It was currently 9: 47. Loki had learned that in this world, this meant that it was nearing sun-down. Another day down, Loki thought, and reached effortlessly up to scratch out another line on the grubby wall, for his tally-chart. He was counting down the days before he would move on to the next step in his plan.

He was looking forward to the inevitable day that he would succeed. This time, instead of going all out in full sight, he was going to be the puppet-master in the shadows. The silent guide, who would show the way to his enemies' demise. All with the help of a pretty little spider, of course...

Things were going well so far. He had successfully framed Spider-man's enemies, and SHIELD was after Spider-man- undoubtably for some kind of help. He doubted that they knew how to deal with these enemies just yet, seeing as they had no idea what their objective was. Spider-man would know for sure, was their thoughts. They had interacted with Spider-man, which he had been worried about at first. But Spider-man could easily hold his own, it seemed. He had defeated Hawkeye and Black Widow with relative ease, which was not only reasuring, but also worrying. He had not planned for Spider-man to be this strong, and he hoped that he had enough power to control him. Other than that small worry, everything had gone to plan. The Avengers were... so easy to control, it was almost laughable. In fact, only Spider-man had been the least bit of trouble, but not even he knew that he was being manipulated.

Loki eyed the staff in his hands. He had managed to steal it back when he had escaped that day, thanks to his mother. He smirked a little at it, knowing that the Chitauris' master had not expected him to be able to charge it up with his own energy. The abilities of the staff were for all to use; so long as you had the energy to charge it. Which he did.

Loki stood up, and took his time looking for a good place to lay down. (He had gained a sore back leaning up against this wall. At least the prison had beds...) This room was relatively abandoned, with cob-webs and musty stains on the metals and stone around him. It smelled of puke here (for whatever reason. Loki did not quite want to know why) which was rather unpleasant, but other than that, it was the perfact hiding place.

He was surrounded by steaming pipes, that heated the building above, and he was underground. The maze of tangled pipes was enough protection, really. You couldn't fly over them, you couldn't crawl under them... you had to make your way around on the ground, while also avoiding the boiling-hot pipes. He supposed this was why it was so abandoned- no one wanted second degree burns. Especially humans; they had such a slow healing rate.

There was one exit, (that was not in view here), but he knew that it was hidden behind the mass of pipes to his left. No one would want to come this far into the room, if they came here at all. That was why it was perfect.

In the end, Loki decided on just sleeping on the concrete floor, using his arm as a pillow. Just two weeks to go... and then, he will be victorius, for sure.

 **.o0|O|0o.**

 _Two weeks before_

 _Steve was at the scene of a crime that had happened just yesterday. According to witnesses, the fire had not been an accident; rather, it had been an attack. They claimed to have seen a ball of fire that had been aimed straight at the building. There had been four witnesses, and they all claimed the same thing._

 _The officer in charge had given him a run down of all of the information they had at the moment. Apparently, out of the thirty six residents, seven had survived. Four were in hospital, and the other three had been out at the time of the fire. One of the survivors had been a child... it was rather disconcerting for him. Absently, Steve wondered where Spider-man had been during all this. He usually dealt with this stuff, right? It almost made him wonder... did Spider-man actually care for the children that lost their parents in fires? Did he know? Had he taken a day off that night?_

 _Then he shook himself, to rid himself of those thoughts. Of course he did- you would have to care, if you were a superhero. Otherwise you wouldn't really have a drive. And to be a superhero, you kind of needed a drive, or it all felt pointless and unappreciated. To be a superhero like Spider-man, who had a lot of hate, it was probably hard. So he must have some kind of drive._

 _Other than the deaths, (which made Steve wince- why should he be relying on a vigilante for something that he should do?) there had been massive destruction from the fire. The building had been reduced to scraps of ash and melted stone. The fire must have been really hot to burn down concrete like that..._

 _Some if the neighbouring buildings had been singed badly, but nothing too serious. The fire brigade had managed to control the fire fast enough to stop any real collateral damage. Fortunately nobody else had been significantly hurt, which was a relief._

 _Currently, Steve was inspecting the direction from which the fireball had supposedly come from. He was on the roof of a building that the fireball could have possibly come from._

 _He bent down on his knee when he came to the edge of the building. He reached down and swiped to fingers along the ground, picking up some soot in the process. He raised his hand back up and scrutinised the soot thouroughly. It looked normal to him, and it even felt normal when he smudged it between his thumb and forefinger._

 _He stood up, and examined the rest of the roof. After he had interrogated the secretary that had been here last night, he had learned that no one of note had enterred the building at the time of the fire. Other than that, there had been no canons dredged up to the roof, so it was seemingly impossible that a fireball had been launched from this roof. Had the fire started in the apartment building?_

 _No. For one, all of the witnesses claimed the exact same thing. Plus, you couldn't lie to the police; it was illegal. And for two, there was soot on this roof. There was no trace of gunpowder, but..._

 _Then a thought hit him. What if it had been magic? The same kind that Loki had used?_

 _Steve took one last sweeping glance over the roof, before heading down. He had the resident Asgardian to question..._


	9. Your hugs are my favourite

**A/N) Finally! Again, late. I know, I'm an idiot, I should update more often- but at least I'm here, right?**

 **I would just like to thank you guys for 32 reviews, 55 followers, and 35 favourites! It means a lot more to me than I say.**

 **But ugh. Guys, it's Sunday. Dawn of the last day; 24 hours remain.** _(Less than 24 hours, actually. It's way past dawn)._

 _Chapter 8_

Spider-man wooped as he swung up and around one of the taller buildings. The way the wind swept past his body, and the constructions zoomed by. The tiny cars below him seemed akin to toys, and their flashing lights were calming, in a strange way. It helped him ignore the insisting voice in the back of his mind.

It was still early in the morning, and things were moving slowly. Most crimes happened at night, or late into the evening, but there was always some daring crookies in the mornings.

And just as he thought that, a muffled shout came from a back alley. Immediately, Peter lunged in that direction, nose-diving into the alley, and just barely coming up short of the ground, (thanks to his webs).

He quickly took note of the situation, noticing that the two crookies had not noticed him. Both were male, and young. The victim _had_ noticed him. He was about fourty or fifty years old, and was wearing similar clothes to what uncle Ben might have worn...

 _'Miss him?'_ Snickered the voice of his aunt in the back of his mind. _'Well, he doesn't miss you. Why would he miss the one who killed him? You useless boy.'_

The Man had his eyes fixed upon him, looking at him almost knowingly, like he knew what Peter was going through.

Before he could get himself even more wrapped up in his thoughts, Peter shook his head, and put on a cheeky grin. It was more for himself than the crookies, no matter how he tried to convince himself. "Heya fellas!" he said in his usual cheerful voice. "You get a kick from bullying the elderly?"

The crookies froze in their advancement, but only one dared to turn and look at him. "Aww." He adressed the one who still had his back to Peter. "Don't be like that. You know I love ya!" He said like a friend might to his best buddy.

As the second crookie shook in his boots, he turned around to look at Spider-man. "H-hey, w-what's up... man?" Asked the first.

Peter chuckled. "'A' for effort, man, but you're still a bully. And you should know... I don't like bullies. They suck." He commented, and crossed his arms. "So then, what's it gonna be? The easy way..." He paused here and cracked his knuckles before saying in a lower, more dramatic voice, "Or the hard way?"

The crookies stood stock-still for a full two seconds, before scrambling away, snatching the middle aged man's bag as they went. Peter sighed before turning to the senior. "Please wait here for a sec; I'll be right back." and then he leaped up into the air, and used his webs to chase after his quarry.

He caught them both with ease; too used to their type of baddie to have any trouble. He strung them up against a wall by their arms and legs. He grabbed the man's bag, and made a quick call to the cops, before looking at the two men. "Now don't be too much trouble 'fore the cops get here, alright?" he said, as if he was scolding some children. "Be nice!"

He faintly heard the two grumble before he swept himself up into the air and aimed a well placed flip into the next alley, where the older man was still waiting patiently. "Sorry for the long wait!" he said, as he handed the man's bag over. He expected the man to snatch it out from between his fingers, and sneer at him, but the man did neither.

The middle-aged man thankfully took the bag from him and fixed Peter with a grateful stare. "Thank you, Spider-man. I know some people think you're not all that good, but you are really helping this city."

Peter felt his heart swell with joy at his words. He hadn't known it himself, but... he had really needed to hear those words. He had wanted to feel needed by the public, and the fact that this man had just said that... Peter just... he couldn't explain it. He just felt incredibly, and utterly happy, throughut all of his being. Even the voice in his head shrunk back at the man's kind words. This man... He... he really was like uncle Ben, Peter thought.

"... Th-... thanks..." He mumbled uncertainly. "That's... really kind of you..."

The man smiled kindly at him. He even had the same twinkle in his eyes that uncle Ben had... "That's no problem, son. Not many people appreciate what you do."

Peter- yes, not Spider-man, Peter- smiled shyly at him. "Thanks..." he said again, awkwardly. But before he could get really emotional, the man walked out of the back-alley, and didn't turn back. Peter didn't move for a long time, just thinking over the man's words.

Eventually, he realised that it was getting late, and that he should probably head back to the home before Thomas woke up...

 **.o0|O|0o.**

As Peter passed the kitchen, he realised that he was indeed a little off-schedule, because Mrs. Mason was already out of the shower.

She was an old woman, who he had learned had three children; two sons and one daughter. Two of which had children themselves. Mrs. Mason seemed to enjoy the presence of younger children, which might be why she was a social services worker. Despite her old age, her eyes had the same sparkle in them that children's eyes did. Maybe that was why she was so likable.

She smiled kindly at Peter as he picked an apple out of the bowl of fruit on the table. "Ah, Peter. We hardly ever see you these days!" She exclaimed pleasantly, and clapped her hand on his shoulder.

Peter was slightly unsure whether he should anwer that. He hadn't really had much interraction with people recently, (apart from the conversation he had had with Ricky two days ago. But that was more of a monolgue on his part, so it didn't really count), so he was a little out of touch. He came to a compromise with himself and decided that mumbling was the best course of action, for now. "... I guess..."

Mrs. Mason dug her hands into the cereal cupboard and pulled out a box of Cheerios- which was strange, because Peter had never seen Mrs. Mason eat cereal before. "Oh, Peter..." She paused in preparing her breakfast, "Do you want to visit your aunt today?"

Peter didn't even think. "No, thank you, Mrs. Mason." But he said it absently, because as soon as she said 'aunt' Peter's thoughts had been re-directed towards the middle-aged man from his patrol. He wanted to see that man again...

But it wasn't as though he could just swing around the corner and see him. But... there was always the next best thing...

Should he do it? Would he do it? _Could_ he do it? Peter wasn't sure if he could, but... he had to try. That is what uncle Ben would have wanted, right? To protect, to try... after all, with great power, comes great responsibility. With his decision thought out, Peter corrected himself, "Actually..."

Mrs. Mason looked up from pouring some milk into the cheerios, and turned to him. "Yes, Peter?" Her eyes looked so happy... so hopeful. He hoped aunt May's eyes would look like that.

"Um... I think..." Ugh. Peter groaned internally- why was this so hard? "I... I _do_ want to see... aunt May... today." And with that, Peter sprinted out the door before he could see Mrs. Mason's reaction.

Little did he know, Mrs. Mason's smile was a shade brighter the whole day.

 **.o0|O|0o.**

Peter was afraid of what would happen when he walked through these doors. Instead of thinking about it, he tried to examine the door itself... it wasn't working very well.

Mrs. Mason had taken Peter straight to the hospital after school (she had been waiting right outside the school yard). She hadn't said a word on the way, but she had smiled at him comfortingly whenever he looked at her. The hospital staff were strict though, so she couldn't follow him to aunt May's hospital room. He had told her that he could walk home, and that she should go check on the other kids.

So here he was, alone in the dim corridor, pulling at his sleeves and trying to gather up the courage to walk in. There was a surpring lack of nurses running around here, (although he could hear mumbling in the room down the corridor) not something he had expected a hospital to be like at all. Aunt May loved to watch hospital dramas often, and the corridors in the hospitals there had never been this quiet, or not that he had seen, anyway. But the fact that it was quiet was a little unnerving, to be honest.

Peter's thoughts were interrupted by the opening of doors, and a small chatter between what sounded like a young female, and an older male. The male's voice was deep, and a little familiar- although he couldn't think of where he could have met this person's voice before.

The chattering stopped, and the male and female went in different directions. Silently, Peter hoped that the man would go in the opposite direction, but he could tell by the strides that it was the male. He just hoped that this person would go straight passed him; after all, why wouldn't he? They were complete strangers.

His hopes were completely crushed when he felt a large, strong hand on his shoulder.

 **.o0|O|0o.**

Steve opened the door to the hospital room, with the nurse right behind him. It was an average visit to the hospital (he went there often, to cheer up kids), and nothing was going wrong so far. The nine-year-old in the other room was fast asleep, (mostly due to morphine) and the nurse and himself had gone out, so as not to disturb her sleep.

The nurse turned her thankful brown eyes to his own blue ones. "Thank you, for all you do, captain. We all really appreciate it, and the kids love you."

Steve shuffled his feet nervously. No matter how many times he got these compliments, it always felt embarrasing. He wasn't really used to it, but he supposed he would have to be, soon. "Uh, thank you, miss..." he mumbled, and felt his cheeks light up.

The woman chuckled. "Oh, it's no problem! You are so sweet with them- you're a natural parent, I can tell!" She smiled brightly at him, before waving. "Well, I should be on my way. Bye!"

Steve nodded quickly, recovering from the compliment. "Uh, yes, bye!" He smiled pleasantly, but she had already turned on her heel, and was walking in the other direction. Steve followed in suit, and continued down the hall.

But he frowned slightly when he spotted a skinny, brown haired boy just a few feet away. He was staring intently at the door before him, and he looked to be... frightened? Nervous? One of the two.

Steve wasn't sure what was wrong, but the lad was young, and he looked so lost... he would just check up on him, and then be on his way. Hopefully nothing was too wrong, and he wouldn't break down right on the step of this door- there was no doubt a patient or two on the other side of the door.

With that in mind, Steve placed his left hand on the boy's shoulder. He was surprised when his fingers splayed off of his shoulder, and he could feel that the shoulder was a lot thinner than it should be. He seemed to be marginally under-weight, and he could feel the boy's shoulder bones jutting out. It was a little worrying.

But something more than that, the boy visibly flinched when he laid his hand on him. What did this mean? He tried to ignore it, and act friendly, but Steve couldn't shake off the way he had flinched; as if he had been struck.

"Hello, son. Are you alright?" He said gently, and calmly removed his hand. It would not do alarm him further.

The boy stayed silent for a long while, but his eyes had widened slightly, and he seemed all the more nervous. "Yes..." he said, after a while. "I'm fine." he mumbled.

Now, if Steve hadn't said those words in the exact same way, a million times before, he might have believed him. Heck, he might have even believed him, even if he had seen the boy's eyes widen, the flinch, the under-weight-edness, even his general posture. Because the way he had said it was practiced, and well done. It was an automatic, practiced, well done, lie.

Although, on the other hand, it was a relief that he had someone to lie to. That meant that there was someone who cared about him, and someone he cared about enough to lie to. It reminded him of his and Bucky's relationship... although, Bucky could always see right through him. He wondered if this boy's friend could see right through him...

But the notion still stood; it was a lie. "No you're not." Steve said simply. The boy tensed."I've seen pleanty of people say the exact same thing."

Curiously, the boy turned around, to look at him scrutinisingly. He seemed to be looking for something, but what he was looking for... well, the possibilities were endless. And Steve didn't really want to look through all of them. The most likely one was probably identity,but who knew; maybe the boy would surprise him.

The boy seemed to have found what he was looking for, because his eyes widened, and he took a step back. "C-... Captain America?"

 **.o0|O|0o.**

"C-... Captain America?" The words left his mouth before he could stop them. He was panicking slightly, (although he prided himself in being able to hide his panic, thanks to all those times he had fought formidable foes as Spider-man), and he tried to tell himself that Captain (Freakin') America was not right in front of him because of Spider-man.

Even though it had been weeks since the incident with Hawkeye and Black Widow, he wouldn't put it past them to try and find out his secret identity in that time. And of course, use it as leverage. But did they really have to do it while he was having mental struggles, at a hospital? Seriously?

Then again, he tried to convince himself. Then again, it might just be a coincidence. For all he knew, Cap was just here because he liked to cheer up hospital children. He had heard rumours about that before, although he couldn't remember where.

Cap sighed, and scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah... but you can call me Steve, if you want."

Peter froze, and blushed. Oh. Oh yeah. Who wanted to be called by their superhero name while not in superhero mode? Sounded exhausting. Peter hoped he would never have to reveal his identity. "Alright... Steve. I, uh... I'm Peter." He mumbled. "Sorry..." He too rubbed the back of his neck subconciously.

"That's alright." Steve responded quickly. "I get it a lot." There was an awkward silence. It was not as long as some of the awkward silences that Peter had experienced before, but it was awkward. Way, awkward. "Um... so... are you... are you sure you're alright?" Steve asked again. "I mean..."

Peter quickly picked up the conversation, before another silence could breakout. "Uh, no... you were right... I'm not... completely... okay." Ugh. Peter groaned again. He had been on a roll at first, but then he lost it again. He really needed to get out more.

Steve fixed him with a strange stare. He was probably trying to figure him out. Good luck with that, Peter thought. "You... wanna talk about it?" Steve asked.

Peter actually considered the question, and what his answer might be. Did he want to talk about it? No. Should he talk about it? ...Yes. "Al-... alright."

Steve smiled, and put on a comforting smile. Really? would this person, who tried to make him feel better, tried to help him, tried to... comfort him- would this person really try to kidnap him, like Hawkeye and Black Widow? Would he?

Steve gestured to some benches across the hall. "Would you like to sit?" he asked.

It couldn't hurt, right? Peter thought to himself. He nodded slowly, and began to walk over. But not before Steve put his arm around his shoulders, like uncle Ben used to. At this thought, Peter turned his eyes down-cast, and let his shoulders fall in on themselves.

When they sat on the bench, Peter didn't say much. He tried to sort through his thoughts; put one in front of the other, try to order them into a line to explain... but it was hard. He couldn't do it. Peter sighed and slumped into the bench, lowering his head into his hands.

A comforting hand lowered itself onto his shoulder, but Peter didn't look up. "Hey," came Steve's low voice. "How about we start with why you're here. Who's behind the door?"

Peter looked tiredly up from his hands, and into Steve's eyes. "My aunt. She... she was hurt in a fire." _That you abandoned me in!'_ cut in the voice, and Peter winced internally.

Steve scrunched up his eyebrows. It wasn't often that nephews went to see their aunts. It would make sense if she was Peter's mother, but an aunt? Why an aunt? He hadn't been all that close to his aunt, back when he was younger. Perhaps this Peter was just very kind? Even with his super hearing, he couldn't hear anyone else in the room, (other than patients) so this boy was the only one.

"She... she's my only relative left." Ah. That would explain it. "The doctors said that she would get better, but... the hospital fees are quite big, and we don't really have all that much money." Peter rubbed his hand over the creases on his forehead, trying to make them go away. "And I'm not sure if she even likes me anymore..." he mumbled that last part, like it was a secret.

Steve's eyebrows lowered into a monobrow, and looked at him with concerned eyes. "What do you mean by that? I'm sure she loves you; you seem like a good kid."

Peter sighed. This was the hard part. "I... have a secret. She wants to know... what I'm doing, but I don't think she should, and we kind of got mad at each other, and... yeah. Now she's hurt, and I'm not..."

To his surprise, Steve's eyebrows relaxed and he looked at him in understanding. What? How could he understand what Peter was going through? Although, it would make sense, he supposed. Uncle Ben had read the Captain America comics to him as a kid, and despite his memory of them not being the best, he did remember relating to him, strangely enough.

"I think," Steve began, but he paused, as if second guessing his words. In the end, he continued anyway. "I think you should go see her. You two probably need to figure this out, and it won't be easy." He warned. "But, you can't spend the rest of your life thinking 'I should have done this'. Do it now, and you you won't regret it. Trust me." For some reason those last two words stuck out to Peter. Trust him? No, he culdn't do that. No matter how much he helped, he was still Captain America, the first Avenger. And Peter could no longer trust an Avenger.

But, he did know that this man probably had experience. He probably knew what to do in a situation like this. So, yes, Peter would do as he said. But he couldn't trust Captain America.

 **.o0|O|0o.**

When Peter stepped through the door, he only sent one glance back to Steve. Steve gave him an encouraging thumbs-up, before the door closed behind him. He was now alone, in a dark hospital room, with groaning and sleeping patients.

One patient was awake, and she stared right at Peter, with her mouth open, and her eyes wide. Peter didn't waste any time- he raced over, and gave his aunt May a big hug.

 **Yay! And now they are back together again!**

 **... Also, foreshadowing! I ain't telling you where it is, but it's there.**


	10. The return of the stalkers

**A/N) ... As you probably have already figured out, I am absolutely and utterly terrible at updating.** _(And she finally appears...)_

 **I know that you guys have waiting for this for a long while, and I am sorry about that. There is a multitude of reasons as to why I have not updated anything on this story in a while,** _(This includes laziness, distractions, procrastination...)_ **like homework, and family life and all that craziness.**

 **Anyways... the first fight scene was based off of someone else's work, but I can't name them off the top of my head. So sorry! If you are the person who wrote that scene, or know of the person who wrote the original scene, please inform me, so that I can credit them in the next chapter!**

 **Also, can I just say? The last couple of chapters have been over three thousand words, and my aim was two thousand. So yeah...**

 **Okay then. Now that that is out of the way, please enjoy!** _(Finally)._

 _Chapter 9_

It had been a long week since he had first entered aunt May's hospital room, and met the seemingly non-threataning Avenger. (Although he still did not trust them, he knew that The Avengers were after Spider-man; not Peter Parker).

Since then, he and aunt May had been getting along much more. He had not told her his secret yet, (even though he had planned to before-hand) but he knew that when things went back to normal, he was going to have to. He didn't want to suffer through that blank stare any longer, and though the hateful voice had been minimally squished recently, he was sure that it would not last. Therefore, he had started to plan ahead- in other words, he had made a script for himself; something akin to a speach, but also had various ways that aunt May might react to it.

Now, aunt May was almost better, and he had no doubt that the doctors would release her in a few days. Any time now, soon, he would return-

But then he paused. He would return? Where would he return? The apartment building had been burned to the ground, and they had no other relatives or house to stay at. They were using up a lot of money on hospital bills, and Peter had been cutting down on his Spider-man time in order to work more. While aunt May had refused to let him get an actual job, he did freelance at the Daily Bugle, and he had garnered a respectable amount of money from that. He just hoped that they would survive long enough for him to get a proper job with his grades, (which he had been working a lot harder on since last week).

In fact, right now, he was doing his homework next to Thomas, on the floor. They were both splayed out on the floor, focused completely on their homework. Occasionally, Thomas would ask for some help, and Peter would look up, give him a small smile, and answer quietly.

Peter's grades had shot right back up to their original heights, and he and Flash were on speaking terms again. Flash hadn't asked about why he was so silent yet (or, not out loud, anyway) but they weren't very close, so he supposed that that was normal. He didn't realize how much he actually liked hearing Flash's strange (and often, random) comments about Spider-man. He had forgotten how he smiled wryly to himself whenever he said anything about his alter ego, and how much the feeling elated him; knowing that someone appreciated him, even if it was only for the girls. Peter smirked into his textbook to hide his amusement.

"Boys! Dinner!" Called Mrs. Mason's voice, promptly cutting off Peter's thoughts. He watched Thomas eagerly leap to his feet, and jog to the door (they weren't allowed to run inside).

Thomas cocked his head to Peter. "Aren't you coming?" he asked. He still hadn't seen Peter eat yet, although they had been having more contact recently. Evidently, Thomas thought that as Peter's roomie, he should look after Peter.

Peter glanced up lazily, before wafting his hand in the air, sending puffs of wind at Thomas. "Nah." He said, non-comittially, not letting on his plan. "But I'm gonna go out now, anyway."

Thomas nodded. No one ever asked where he went all the time, not even Thomas. They either assumed that he was doing drugs, was in a gang, or was off to see friends- mostly that last one.

Thomas went downstairs, and left Peter to fold up his homework (which had been finished a long time ago; he was just enjoying some calm silence with Thomas on the floor), and chuck it onto his bed. Peter followed Thomas soon after, saying only a quick and quiet farewell to his house-mates, before walking out the door.

 **.o0|O|0o.**

Tony sighed, as he was once again stuck in front of the 'spy-screens' as he liked to call them. Cap had found out that he was making JARVIS watch them, and had decided that they needed better eyes watching 'em. So now he was locked up inside his lab, with nothing to do but watch boring screens.

His eyes lazily trailed around the room, listening to nothing in particular (as the screens were turned on mute) and trying to find a worthy distraction. He gave up after a while, and instead turned to look at his phone. It was a last ditch effort, but dissecting his phone (like he had done multiple times before) and checking that everything was still in order (he had made it, after all) managed to earn him a small smile, no matter his unattractive situation.

As he was just diving into the mini thermometer he had installed into it (for acurate weather predictions) JARVIS deemed it an appropriate time to interupt. "Sir, screen 231 is beginning to show something of interest. Would you like me to turn on the sound?"

"Sure, whatever." He mumbled, not thinking it was anything of importance. He didn't take his eyes off of his only means of entertainment, until he heard something that was, in fact, interesting.

"Spider-man!" came the slightly muffled voice of the owner of the phone screen.

"Hello, muggles!" Came the ever cheerful voice of Spider-man, as he swung over their heads. There was a short cheer from the surrounding crowd, while others booed and threw random objects at him. Two of which passed by the screen of the phone they were watching from, which had a good view due to the fact that the person holding the phone was probably filming, and was holding it up.

Tony watched as the streak of red and blue flew by, and Spider-man waved joyously at the crowd, despite some of the hate he was recieving. And then he was gone.

But not for long, Tony thought, as he began typing on his keyboard. "JARVIS, follow that Spider!" And then he stopped typing for a moment, before saying; "And get Natasha and Legolas up here!"

 **.o0|O|0o.**

Peter swung high, up above the people of New York, and did his daily routine of flipping, jumping, and fying through the air. He skimmed the sides of buildings, as he casually swept over the city scape.

It was late, and he would be getting back to the home soon, but he could still drag out some time before he had to go back to being 'Puny Parker'.

A loud scream of distress adressed his highly sensetive ears; a scream that no one else could hear. He quickly flipped back around, and headed back the way he had come. When he reached the scene, there was a young couple, (a little older than him) standing before a group of six crookies.

The woman was the one who had screamed, although she wasn't hurt. The man was standing before her, and had a seemingly fresh cut wound on his outer arm. When he glanced down at the gangsters, he noted that only one of them had a knife. It was an old, rusted knife, but a knife all the same. There was only two others that had weapons, (one was a girl, who held a broken piece of wood with two nals on it, and the other- a boy -had a wooden bat) while the others only had their fists.

Spider-man wasted no more time when the boy with a kbife raised his weapon up high, ready to strike. He made for a nose dive right at the boy, and quickly grappled the knife out of his hand (fortunately surprise was on his side; otherwise he might not have gotten away with that so easily).

He webbed the knife onto the building to the left, but didn't take his attention off of his adversaries. The boyfriend and girlfriend, (or he assumed they were boyfriend and girlfriend) who were now cowering in the corner, flinched in the corner of his vision.

"So, fellas," he began, before turning to the female, who scowled at him. "... And dames. Are we gonna be nice, or are we gonna give Spider-man a hard time?" He spoke in third person, like a mother might to her children.

Most of them tensed, but the girl and the man who had been holding the knife stood strong, and confident. They probably thought that they could take him on. "I don't think you're in a position to make demands," said the girl, to which the knife-guy nodded.

"Yeah, we outnumber you six to one," he pointed out, throwing a finger in his direction. "Others might have lost to you, but we've got experience." He raised both hands into the sky, trying to goad a cheer from his followers. "We've lived on the streets out whole lives! We're not just street rats, we're street wolves! On our own since birth, but grown to be a fearsome predator; a pack 'til the end!" He exclaimed, slightly boosting the confidence of his 'pack'.

Peter, inside, felt atwinge of guilt. Even though they probably hadn't been alone since birth, and had homes to go back to, with parents waiting on their return, there had to be a reason they had turned to this. Perhaps they were in need of money; maybe they were starving. He didn't know why they would do this- but their clothes were enough to point out their rung on the ladder of society.

Spider-man shrugged, and raised his arms to his sides, as if to say 'Sorry, I can't help it' "Well, I gave you your chance." He said, before easily webbing two of the six to a wall. They seemed to be the least enthusiastic of the bunch, and were slinking away into the shadows.

In retaliation, the boy with the bat raced at him, clumsily swinging his weapon, (probably not having used it before) which made for an easy duck from Peter. He bent over backwards into the crab, before lifting up his feet and grabbing the bat right out of his oponent's hands, with his legs.

He flipped back onto his feet, and flung away the bat. He wasn't in the clear for long, though, because the girl came at him with the piece of wood (with a bit more expertise) and steady hands. Luckily, he had his Spidey-sense to warn him, and he leaped up just in time. He attached himself to the close by building (the same he had attached the knife to) and slung a string of web at his oponent. She tried to lunge to the side, but he got her in the leg; immobilizing her as soon as she hit the ground again.

That left the three unarmed boys. He made quick work of the one who had had the bat, wrapping him up in web. The other two were a bit more experienced, especially the one who had never had a weapon in the first place. Peter had assumed that they had just not had enough weapons, but this person was reasonably good at hand-to-hand combat.

Whenever he shot webs at the leader, he would dodge. But if he shot at the other, he would almost dance around it, in a way that was from years of practice; not instinct, like he or the leader would.

Eventually, though, he webbed them both up. And just in time, too, because he could hear sirens closing in. He assumed that one of the couple had called the police.

He looked back over at the two, knowing that he still had some time left. He saw that the boyfriend was hugging her tightly; protecting he from the white-laced bodies around them. He was still protecting her... it made Peter smile.

"Hey, lady!" He shouted, as he prepared for lift-off. The woman looked up from weeping into her boyfriend's shoulder and stared at him, eyes wet with tears, but still alight with young curiosity. "Look after this guy; he's a keeper!" he yelled over the sirens, which were now just a few paces away from the entrance to the alley.

He didn't wait to see their reaction, just simply turned away, and started forwards. A hop, skip, and a jump later, and he was in the air, floating freely, and then falling again. He worked in a rythm; even his body pulsed in the same way, with his heart beating, lungs breathing, and eyes blinking. All was a song, and he was the instrument.

He swung low over the civilians (some of which turned and took pictures, and others shouted greetings. Others threw close by objects and slew him with curses and insults).

He ignored them mostly, (only throwing a quick quip to a small group) knowing that it was getting late. But he didn't want to leave just yet; he wanted to pay a visit to an old friend. With this thought in mind, he took a detour west.

When he reached the rooftop, he sat down at the very edge, and cast his legs out over the side, rocking them slowly. "'Sup, Brucie."

He looked over to the gargoyle, who, in reality, was frozen in his stance. But to Peter, he moved and breathed like any other being. Sometimes, he could have sworn that he even heard Brucie's heart-beat. "Been a while, huh?" He said casually.

He was met with silence. "Yeah. Anyway, what Iwanted to talk to you about was..." He stopped here, and leaned back onto his hind muscles, staring up at the sky. He wasn't quite sure why he had come here, actually. Maybe he just needed someone to talk to. "I don't know..." After all, he was being hunted by The Avengers, his aunt was injured, he needed to pay for hospital bills, his grades (despite getting better recently) were still reasonably low, and he was just tired. Tired, but not physically; mentally, spiritually, whatever. He was just worn out, and he needed a break. "...I guess I'm just a bit... I don't know." He repeated.

Maybe he imagined it, but he felt like some kind of calming aura was emanating from Brucie. It was reassuring, coming from his best friend; normally, he might have gone to Gwen, but-

 _Gwen..._

He might have gone on an internal (or external) tirade about missing her. There would have been tears, (lots of tears) and sorrow, and probably flashbacks. Might have.

Because his Spidey-sense took that instant to act up, and he fell off the building in shock. Fortunatly, he was Spider-man; a wall-clinger, Web-slinger, red and blue clad, half spider. You know, spiders. Those things that climb walls.

He stuck himself to the side of the building before he could fall too far, but the shock was still there. Where was the danger _here_ , of all places? But more importantly, why was it here?

He snuggled closer to the shadows, trying to stay out of sight. From what he could tell, the danger was a bit further a way, but heading his way. This person probably knew where he was (or at least that was what he was guessing) because why else would a danger be heading in his direction specifically? If this was the case, though... they could probably see him- or an acquaintence of their's could, anyway.

His immediate reaction was to look around for cameras, but there was no obvious ones that he could see. Although, that did not mean that they weren't here.

At this point, the danger was right on top of him; he could tell by the way the base of his skull was throbbing. But he could neither hear, nor see, the adversary. Again, that did not mean that they weren't here.

Then he heard the voice. "Spider-man." It was female, and he had commited the voice to memory; he would know it anywhere, even in a large crowd, never mind a lonely and abandoned building. "We know you're here. Come out." It was an order. She was probably used to getting what she wanted, but Peter was a little too... something... to step out. He told himself it was experience speaking, because he didn't want to admit to himself that he was scared.

On the other hand, he knew that she wouldn't leave. And if he tried to himself, she would spot himself for sure. He told himself he had no other choice, gathered the last of his courage from the corners of his mind, and crawled up onto the roof.

He put on a grin, before adressing the woman before him. "Hey, it's Spider-girl!" he said, and tried to make it sound cheerful. But even he could hear the dread in it.

Black Widow's eyes hardened to black slits; no anger, no irritation, no emotion, no nothing. "I'm going to ask you once, and that will be your only chance." She said. It held challenge; completely conveying her dislike towards him; warning him of what she knew. 'I have made my mistake once, but not again. You will be defeated this time around.' No room for argument. And, now, he believed her. No doubt she could kill him in the flick of her wrist, he thought. Last time, he now knew, had not only made her angry, but also experienced. It was probably a one-off, anyway, and he had barely escaped in the first place.

"Come quietly, or I will take you by force." Something about that sentence bugged him. He wasn't sure what it was, but something about that sentence was off. He ran it through his head again. Oh yeah! Last time, Hawk-boy had been here.

"'I'?" He mimicked. "What happened to pigeon worshipper?" He asked, and feigned picking at his nails, despite his gloved fingers.

Black Widow didn't even spare him an emotion. She just looked at him with those black slits, and he knew that she wouldn't answer to anything other 'Yes, I'll come', or 'No, get stuffed'.

Despite the cons, Peter decided that the latter was a more appropriate response. "Take a hike, Widow." He said scathingly, suddenly feeling very irritated. Who was she, to demand that he come with her, after their last meeting? No, now he was only more determined to get away from her quicker.

She didn't even respond. But she did give a signal, which was poorly disguised, by the way. In fact, he would bet good money that she was so confident that he wouldn't get away, that she didn't even bother to hide it.

An arrow sailed passed his ear, leaving a whistling sound ringing and bouncing off of his ear drums. He had only dodged thanks to his Spidey-sense, but it was good enough for him. Now, he know where Hawkeye was hiding (or at least the direction he was hiding in). He was kind of hoping that he could defeat them both in the same way as he had done before, but there was probably a very low chance of that.

He figured that taking out Hawk-dork would work best for him, but Black Widow was already in front of him, fist pulled back in what would have probably been a well-aimed, well-powered punch. Fortunately, Peter had Spidey-sense on his side, so he managed to avoid it in the nick of time.

He was in a bit of a pickle at the moment. He was fighting Black Widow; someone who was not only a master of most (probably all) martial arts, but had also fought him before, so she probably already knew how he battled, and might be able to predict what he did. Then there was Hawkeye; someone who never missed, and could attack without being seen, and without getting close. These two were the perfect team, and he was no where near their standards, now that they were in their most comfortable positions- basically a home-field advantage.

...Home-field ...

That gave him an idea. Did he, Spider-man, have a home-field? Yes. Yes he did; the streets, the sewers... New York. This was his city. He knew this place like the back of his hand. So what if he couldn't escape them by running? He could _hide._ It may be the coward's way out, but it might just work. Now then, where to hide?

Spider-man felt a grin glide on to his face as an idea popped into his head. What an idea... he shook his head at himself, both proud of himself and disbelieving. Only he himself would think of such a plan; it could go so easily wrong, and just plain... weird. But he was curious as to how that might go. Plus, it sounded... _fun._

"You wanna catch me?" He taunted, lurching to the side as he avoided a stun-arrow. "Well, you gotta catch me first!" He promptly backflipped off of the building and swung back towards a less deserted part of the city. Despite the late hour, people were still out. New York wasn't called the 'City that never slept' for nothin', yo. Peter snickered to himself quietly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hawkeye speeding over the rooftops after him, as expected. He couldn't see Black Widow, but he had no doubt that she was there, hiding in the shadows, all creepy-like. His Spidey-sense informed him of such.

He swung up high, and landed on the side of a billboard, much to the confusion of civilians. They looked at him expectantly, probably thinking that he was leading a fight over here (which he was; that was basically the plan. Lead the fight to civilians, get their attention stirred, and hopefully disappear into the throngs of running and screaming people). He relaxed onto the side of the building, and waited for yet more confrontation from his enemies.

He knew that they were here, but they seemed reluctant to come out into the open, into the judgemental eyes of the people. He smirked, thinking this might be easier than he thought.

Then an arrow reminded him that they still had projectiles, and didn't need melee combat in order to catch him. It also reminded him that he should never, ever let his guard down around these people. The arrow sailed over his shouder, landing a short scrape over it. It tore open the fabric, and painted a thin line of red on to his skin. He felt his shoulder explode into a strange itchiness, that confused him slightly. It felt like hundreds of ants were clawing at the open wound, and he couldn't tear them off, no matter how hard he scraped his fingers over the wound. He sagged slightly to the side, and hung on only by his other, healthier arm.

This sent the on-lookers into a state of shock, and curiousness. What was happening, and who had shot Spider-man? He could already predict their thoughts and questions.

He ignored them, though, and tried to think of a solution to his predicament. It seemed the people weren't as prone to panicking as he thought, because none of them were really running around and screaming just yet. Some were calling the police though, so there was that. He sighed inwardly; this was just what he needed- evil policemen who wanted to arrest him.

He knew that they must have a limited amount of projectiles, so they would have to approach at some point, and give him the opening he needed to escape. Because while they were approaching him, he could slip into the crowds, while they weren't busy trying to aim a shot at him.

Fortunately, he was ready this time when the next arrow shot at him, so it buried itself into the billboard, and not his arm. He was ready for the next few arrows too, despite his blurring vision. It was slowly getting darker and darker around the edges of his eyes, and he knew without a doubt that it had been the arrow that hit him first that caused it. It must have been some kind poison, because his movements were becoming more sluggish, too.

He knew that he could not wait it out now, so he had to come up with some other plan. They were obviously stalling him, waiting for an opening, or for when he no doubt would collapse.

With this thought in mind, he leaped from his vantage point, (just in time to avoid another arrow) and stumbled into a landing at the feet of the civilians. "Quick!" He shouted, trying to rouse them into a small panic, albeit guiltily. "Before they get you!" He waved his arms wildly in a random direction.

This, fortunately, got them to pick up the pace. They all started rushing in the direction he had pointed in, not unlike a waterfall of colours and noise. Now, with Spider-man's conformation of danger, they were panicking.

This was just what he needed. With a swift bounce, he buried himself deep into the pit of the croud, simply a drop of chintzy in the motley of colours.


	11. An Insect's Dilema

**A/N: ... Hi.**

 **So, you guys are all really nice, and you wanted me to update again, and... well, I tried to resist. I had convinced myself that I was not going to update again. Nope, Nopedy Nope. Heck, I even deleted the other chapters from my files. Didn't do much to stop me.**

 **Well, don't expect updates to be fast. Once a month, or once a fortnight, at most. I don't think my writing style has changed much. The story is incredibly bad, the plot and actual writing (and Lord forbid, the A/Ns...) even more so. But I'm gonna follow the original Plot-line anyway. I hope you're happy now.**

 **Um, enjoy.**

When he first awoke, the world around him was a sea of blurred shapes and unruly colours. He barely registered the person kneeling beside him before he fell back asleep.

The second time he woke up, he was alone. His vision swam like a shoal of agitated fish, and he felt like he was floating on a fuzzy, blue cloud. He fell asleep.

The third time he came back to the world, the shapes had fuzzed back together and the colours had found their place, although it looked strangely red-tinted, as though he was looking through an autumn coloured lens.

There was someone next to him again, but whoever they were, they were nothing more than a shadow. A silhouette. His eyelids slipped closed, and once again, he fell asleep.

The fourth time he found his consciousness, he stayed awake for longer. The colours were their normal selves again. There was someone by what he recalled seemed to be a door. There was an orange-yellow glow coming from behind it. There was murmured talking- or was it loud? He couldn't quite tell, but everything sounded strangely blurry, as if he was under water.

Then the door slammed shut and suddenly all of his senses were awake and alive, bleating danger like a hyper-active rattlesnake... until it went away.

The person- an elderly woman, by the looks of it, had an old face, but the spark of youth was in her eyes. She had tired wrinkles under them, but her smile was just as warm as always. For a moment, he thought her to be an entirely different person, but her eyes were entirely different... Mrs. Mason?

He croaked out a strange noise, spindly and wretched, but his message seemed to have been conveyed easily enough.

A dab of fondness creakily joined her welcoming grin, well-worn and kind. "Would you like a drink, dear?" Peter nodded weakly.

She took a jug and a plastic cup from the night-stand that he had not noticed before. The cup was and ugly, unreasonably bright mustard yellow. He squinted at it, but drank from it when she helped him sit up. It felt like holy water on his sandy-textured throat.

He paused when the cup was half empty, and turned his eyes to Mrs. Mason's glittering ones. "Better?" She asked, and he nodded again.

"Wh-... Wha-...t?" He managed to hack out before his throat gave out to the burning heat of flickering pain.

She seemed to understand, but grimaced. It was a strange look on her face. He didn't like it.

"Well, the other morning, we were kind of surprised... Tommie came down and said that you were still in bed." She folded her hands. "I was used to not seeing you in the mornings, so I didn't really think anything was wrong until he told us that you were twisting and turning and boiling to the touch. And you wouldn't wake up... I knew something was wrong."

Peter took a drink as he mulled the information over. He always thought that his increased healing rate would prevent any more illnesses... was something wrong? Had he missed something? Was he losing his powers?

He thought back to when he was Spider-man, the other night. He had been shot by an arrow... the arrow! After he was hit, he had felt strangely sluggish and weak. What had been in that arrow? Why had it taken so long for his body to work out all of its remnants? Pesticides, he joked to himself.

Mrs. Mason poured herself a drink too (this cup was an unattractive, grey-blue-purple colour. Interestingly, both looked well-loved and looked after despite their ill-favourable colours) and took a sip herself.

"It was obvious you were ill. I thought at first that it was a cold, or maybe the flu, (I've seen my fair share of those), but you definitely weren't waking up, and I was a little worried. I called a doctor..." Peter tensed, but if she noticed, Mrs. Mason didn't comment. He wasn't a fan of doctors. Too risky. "... He took your temperature, did some things with those clever little modern contraptions, and told me to just wait it out." She chuckled. "He said it was just some kind of flu, or you had the symptoms of it, anyway." She took another drink. "He told me to give you painkillers if you need them when you wake up, but otherwise you'd be alright in a few days. And you are."

"H-how... long-g?" Peter stammered over his unused words.

Mrs. Mason sat back, thinking. "A few days. Three. Or four. We called school, if that's what you're worried about."

No, that wasn't what Peter was worried about. How many people had seen Spider-man get shot by an arrow? How many people hadn't seen him for the past few days? Who had made the connection? Who thought he was injured? Vulnerable?

The Avengers. They had to know. They had to be searching for him right now, thinking that they could get him while he was at a low.

But, he had to remind himself, they didn't know about _Peter._ They only knew about Spider-man. If they did know about Peter, they would have come knocking immediately, he was sure.

"N-no... 's fine." He sighed and pushed his head further into the soft and slightly squished pillow. "'M gonna sleep now." He said, before slipping into a deep, mostly undisturbed sleep.

 **.o0|O|0o.**

 _Two weeks earlier_

" _Thor!" Steve greeted, as the Asguardian landed (perhaps a little too elegantly for a massive hunk of a man his size) on the Avengers' tower roof. (Last time he had collapsed through a window, which Tony had not been happy about, and had given Thor a thorough berating for it. Thor had looked surprisingly akin to a kicked puppy)._

 _Thor had been in and out of the Avengers' tower a lot recently, as he had been searching relentlessly for his brother. Loki had been eluding them for weeks, (or months, in Thor's case) and they were determined to catch him. But this time, Steve hadn't called him back from some far off African country to talk about his progress... it was about the lead he had come across not too long ago, at the burned down apartment building._

" _Captain!" Thor puffed out his chest slightly, showcasing muscles similar to Steve's own, despite being kitted out entirely in Asguardian armour, as usual. "It is good to see you, my friend!"_

 _Steve smiled. "It's good to see you, too, Thor." He gestured to the roof's only exit (apart from flying off the edge). "Would you like to come in? We... we need to talk."_

 _Thor smiled brightly. "Of course! At your leisure."_

 _Steve guided the way to his own floor, and to his rather large room, which was extravagantly decorated, as per Tony's request. It was a little difficult for Steve to get used to, but he knew that Tony meant well, even if he was a little upset at being charged with monitor duty._

 _Steve sat on one of the chairs in the room, which was directed to face a massive TV, next to another chair, and a sofa between them. It was a sort of sitting room inside of his bedroom, and one he preferred much more to the actual sitting room, up on the 'Family floor'. Thor followed his lead._

 _There was a silence, not quite uncomfortable, but not very pleasant, either. Any normal person would have tread carefully around such a delicate silence, but Thor never really was normal._

" _So!" He exclaimed boisterously. "What was it you wished to speak to me about?"_

" _W-well," the words came warily as he tried to build sentences to describe his thoughts. "I found... well, there was a fire." Thor nodded. "And it had... some strange witness accounts surrounding it. A ball of fire..." Thor nodded again. The serious look his face had morphed into made him seem more like the battle-worn warrior that he was. "Well, I went to investigate, and... I think it was created by... magic."_

 **.o0|O|0o.**

Peter had decided that humour was bad for his health.

He had slept for an entire ten hours after that encounter in the evening; a lot more than he was used to. (He got up this afternoon, good as new, but then started to frantically worry because what if the arrow scratch from his shoulder had been seen? … And then he remembered that he had super-healing). After being force-fed last night's dinner and reassuring Mrs. Mason (and, surprisingly, Thomas) that he was fine, he headed out.

The idea had been to go and find the arrow that had hit him, but he didn't have high hopes. The police, or perhaps some curious soul, or maybe even Hawkeye himself had probably picked it up. He hadn't been told anything about the situation, and the news hadn't reported on it, so he didn't think anything was up, really. But, as it happened, there was police surrounding the entire fight scene. (He briefly wondered if this happened at every one of his skirmishes, or if this one was special, but cast the thought away for later).

Then he had the bright idea to go look for arrows where he had first been spotted by Widow and Pigeon-Boy. They had probably been shooting the same arrows, right? Hopefully. (Actually, he couldn't quite remember if arrows had even been shot there. Everything was a bit blurry).

Well, eventually he had found one, so he decided not to worry too much about it. He had always thought that arrows were kind of expensive, and that Hawkeye would go and collect them, but... he supposed that they had all of the money they needed to craft new ones. Peter snorted to himself.

Inside of the arrow there was some kind of phial, with clear liquid inside.

The next day, just after school, he had observed the mysterious liquid (that was obviously not water), and lo and behold... insecticide.

… Fantastic.


	12. Door to the Face, Stark

**A/N: Ha ha. So there was some debate about the insecticide. Some of you found it funny, others questioned the logic behind it. So what happened was I went looking for Spider-Man specific weaknesses, and found... none. Okay, I found one. Apparently, Some Pesticides affect Spider-Man badly; specifically, Ethyl Chloride. One person pointed out that due to the Arachnid:Human ratio, it would hardly affect Spider-Man at all. My rebuke would be that Tony Stark is** ** _rich._** **That is all.**

 **I really appreciate all of the responses and reviews! They really do mean a lot to me. Thank you for all of your support!**

 **I hope this wasn't too late, but here you are! Enjoy! (Also, it isn't a trick this time, promise).**

 _There goes the last initiative..._

He stepped away from the hospital.

 **.o0|O|0o.**

The wood door swept wide, offering the welcoming mat to Peter as if it was a priest in long, white robes. Entering was not so much of a dread any more. He appreciated the shelter and he appreciated the people.

The house was coated in a rippling quiet, only foggy whispers dared to tap the face of it. Odd. He closed the door behind him.

Slipping off his torn shoes, Peter entered the first room (not quite dusty, not quite clean). There was nobody there. He followed the monk-like murmurings, eventually coming to not-so-distant living room, just off the side of the kitchen. He decided to take a peek.

A small number of people were there, sitting around the coffee table, seemingly in the midst of an important meeting. He recognised some, one not so much, others not at all. There was Mrs Mason, and her son (Ricky, if he recalled. What was he doing here?), Two people, a man and a woman, who looked to be in their thirties, and another woman, older than perhaps even Mrs Mason, who had a pinched face, a hooked, beak-like nose (immediately giving her the nickname "Bird-Lady") and frosted stone eyes. His face dropped in suspicion. His Spidey-Sense rumbled out a lazy growl.

He observed the tension, and concluded that there had just been an argument. About what, he had no idea. The man and woman in their thirties seemed happy with the outcome, but everyone else seemed to be at least a bit unhappy. Or maybe that was just Bird-Lady's natural complexion.

The woman in her thirties began to open her mouth, but Peter decided that this was the perfect time to interrupt. He stepped into the room, and immediately felt all eyes on him, pointed like guns on prey. No, it wasn't just an argument, it was a battle. He wondered, once again, what could make a room so tense. What could make a room into a battlefield, and injure the soldiers so much that they resembled a wounded animal in a panic?

"Peter..." sighed Mrs Mason. Her worry lines had deepened.

"So this is Peter?" Cut in the woman in her thirties. She had obviously-dyed blonde hair and a heavily done-up face. "How are you?" She stuck out her hand, something that on most other people would resemble a greeting of equality, but on her... it felt counterfeit. Like she was a siren fooling her victim. That, mixed with the dirty look Ricky (who had seemed nonsensical when Peter had first met him, but who now seemed to be in serious prisoner-broke-out-of-Ravencroft mode) gave her, made him even more suspicious. He didn't take her hand.

Her smile dropped minimally, but quickly sprang up once again. "Well, I'm sure we'll get to know each other very well in the coming days." She retracted her hand. "I hope we can get along." What did that mean?

The man stood up, and brushed off his well-maintained jacket with poise. "No more of that, Diana. We have places to be. See you soon, Peter." He gave a gruff parting message to the Bird-Lady, and took 'Diana' away with him, presumably leaving the building.

Bird-Lady nodded once to Peter as she, too, left, but didn't say a word. Peter just stood in the doorway, mildly perplexed, unsure, and more than a little suspicious. "What just... happened?" He addressed Mrs Mason, not wanting to awkwardly converse with Ricky.

He answered anyway. "They were social workers."

Peter eyed him strangely. "...So ..?"

Ricky frowned. So did Peter. "The-"

"They want to move you." Put in Mrs Mason. "To a different Children's Home. An orphanage..."

Ricky nodded sourly. "They usually don't have orphanages in the US, but... y'know, recently, with all of those Supervillains... some parents just don't... survive. Which means that, among other things, orphans are coming in at heights we haven't seen in decades... and the Government has to find a place to put you all, so they're reinstating them. The orphanages, I mean. All Government paid."

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. The words had lost their order and all came undone in his throat, leaving a sprawling mess that made him want to vomit. Peter wasn't quite sure what to feel about that. It could be seen as a new adventure, but on the other hand, he doubted it would last long. His Aunt May would soon be out of hospital, so there wasn't much to look forward to, nor to dread for.

"Yes, so... you'll be moved." Said Mrs Mason. "Not all of you, thank goodness, but some. Tommie, Finn, and Lisa will all stay here. But they've moved the rest of you. Not to all of the same places, (there was another young man that came in earlier today; he was from Staten Island), but... that's what they're after. You'll be moved to... Brooklyn." She looked sad, and so did Ricky. You could really tell that they were related when they looked like that; the same downcast, bushy eyebrows and the burdened dimples on one side of their crooked, sullen mouths. It was a little strange to see.

He wondered if they would miss him.

Mrs Mason continued: "You remember that older lady? She will be your Headmistress at the orphanage, but she won't be teaching yo-"

"Wait, what? Teaching?" He cut in, not quite shouting but he certainly wasn't quiet. What about his school? And, (dare he say it?), Flash? He didn't have many friends, but Flash wasn't so bad. They talked frequently before classes. Never as friends, but he appreciated it all the same. What about the (meagre) life he had built there?

"Yes, you'll be home-schooled. But don't worry, I'm sure that you'll be able to visit your friends, they're only a train-ride away..." Said Ricky, but his heart wasn't really in it. "Look, there's nothing much we can do. We're only a few New Yorkers; what can we do? Demand a law-suit?" He snorted. "We don't have any power, no matter what those Damn politicians try to say," he sounded angry, but not the kind of I'm-going-to-kill-you-angry. Just a resigned furiousness. A downed animal that knew there was nothing left to do but await his fate. Nothing left but to be angry.

Perhaps it wasn't even because Peter was leaving. After all, he didn't know Peter too well. Perhaps it was more about a hopeless agenda against others. Perhaps he had been subjected to a lot of this; people getting their own way simply because they were more advanced on the social ladder. Maybe that was why he was angry, because they were getting away with it again. He wondered if he had misread Ricky.

 _Oh well_ , thought Peter in an unusual bout of sour-edged spite. _There's going to be a lot more where that came from in the coming years._ Maybe some Supervillain would finally give the slip to Superheroes and take over. Or maybe it would be the Superheroes themselves that would take over, he thought snarkily, casting his memories back to Hawkeye and Black Widow and the rest of the Avengers.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much, Peter." Said Mrs Mason. "You'll be eighteen soon enough, and then you'll be able to take care of yourself." She was trying to sound reassuring, but Peter noticed that something was slightly off about what she had said. Wait until he was eighteen? That was a few years away. But Aunt May was getting better, so he would only have to wait a couple of days, right?

"...What about Aunt May?" He queried, slight confusion written over his face like the pages of a book, suspicion hidden in every page.

Mrs Mason took in a sharp breath, shaped like an dagger. It seemed to physically sting her. Ricky cast his gaze passed him, through the door. "I think I'll leave," He said, sweeping away with hurried steps and anxiety in his gait.

Peter later recounted that in that moment, his Spirit trod after him.

 **.o0|O|0o.**

There had been an accident. A death, in a hospital.

Not so unusual, you might think, had it not been a stab through the gut that had killed her. A curious stab: a hooked weapon had done the deed, coloured an off yellow-bronze. The staff was theirs, but Trickster gods always kept to their old tools, or so he had been told. Perhaps it had been remade.

In her antiseptic sheets she had died, for no one to find her until morning, where a nurse would receive the first parcel of death, wrapped in skin and bones and white sheets and haunted clothes. No one would want to sleep in those again.

Thor was with him as they entered the hospital. Steve recognised the building as one of those he visited often; children and adults alike delighted in seeing him, the patriarch of America. He adored the children the most.

It was not just the outside that he recognised, however. The inside, too, he remembered. He had walked these halls before, and had he not spoken to that nurse...? And...

Yes. There, on one side of the corridor, a bench burdened with the same confessions that Steve himself had heard. And across from that, police tape barred a watchful door. The very same door, and the very same bench. _Please, no..._

He thought this, but he knew. Somewhere inside himself, he remembered that young man (- no, boy; he was barely a teen, it had felt like, when he saw him for the first and last time); he had been vulnerable to bad luck, and it seemed that he would continue to be stalked by it, because her eyes were the same hazel, dulled in death, but whispers of life still clung to her lashes like tears.

Loki.

 **.o0|O|0o.**

It had been days. Long days since Spider-Man had last been spotted. Had they, The Avengers, killed him? No, that didn't sound right. Spider-Man was alive and kicking, he had to be.

That was why he had worked harder to find him. And, to reward his efforts, he had found something.

A girl. Gwen Stacy. She had helped Spider-Man in ridding the city of those Lizard guys. Nice girl. Blonde, pretty, intelligent. Daughter of the Police-Chief, and intern at Oscorp. Dead.

And so was her father, who also happened to have been at the scene of the Lizard. Died in action.

He was certain that they were related to Spider-Man. They had to be. It was just too much of a coincidence. Unfortunately, they were dead.

But, her mother, and her three younger brothers were alive. This could be useful, he had decided, and so, he was now paying them a visit.

Tony Stark knocked politely on the door, then stood back on his feet. This would require excuses, delicately asked questions, and lies. He was prepared.

As he heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the door, he painted his face with a friendly, winning smile and clasped his hands before him.

The door opened, and just behind it, instead of a tired-looking mother, or a stressed relative, there was a boy. Tony hadn't seen him at first, he was so short. He must have been ten at the oldest. What was he doing opening doors to strangers, especially considering the late hour? He assumed this must be one of the little brothers he had read about, even if he hadn't seen any photos of him.

The little boy was dressed in striped blue pyjamas, and was rubbing at his eyes with his little hands.

There was a long silence, in which Tony and the little boy simply stared at each other, trying to figure out the other's purpose.

Tony wasn't sure if he should disturb this little one, or if he should just come back later, but then another person appeared behind the door. She was a lot older, and seemed reasonably tired, but she certainly wasn't gaunt or corpse-looking. She looked more like the mother he had seen in the pictures.

"Simon!" She scolded. "I told you not to open doors to people you don't know. Especially when Mummy is trying to sleep. Howard had to wake me up!" She took a deep breath, and breathed out long and hard through her nose. "Go to bed, Simon. I will come and say goodnight later." The boy, Simon, scampered away.

Then the woman turned to Tony. "What do you want? We don't buy any brochures or anything."

"No, I'm not here for that." He said smoothly. All of those years seducing young men and women came in handy at this moment, particularly as she did not seem to recognise him. He'd need to advertise it to her, but not obviously; subtly. "I'm part of a government organisation," not a lie, "And I'm here to talk to you about the circumstances of your husband and daughter's deaths." Well, that could have gone more smoothly.

The woman seemed to deflate a little (a lot), but snapped to attention and examined him more closely. Then realisation hit her. "... Iron-Man?" Looked like he wouldn't have to explain his identity to her, after all.

"The one and only!" He smirked flirtatiously and jutted his hip out to the side.

She snorted disapprovingly and jutted her own hip out mockingly. "If you hadn't noticed, I have kids to be putting to sleep, so if you could just get your Superhero business done and leave, it would be much appreciated."

"Uh..." That had not been the reaction he had been anticipating, but at least she recognised him. Maybe-

A sharp sigh through the nose. "No? Then I have my own business. Begone! We are not fond of... your sort." And with that, she slammed the door.

He was not prepared.


	13. Spilled Water: Retyped

**A/N: Sorry about the last update! It was all code and I edited as fast as I could as soon as I found out. Thanks to _Phoenixfromthefire_ for the prompt response!**

 **So, a short chapter, but I kind of wanted to illustrate Peter's depression, not sure if I did that too well, though. I left out quite a bit of detail apart from some weird (poetic?) descriptions.**

 **I'm writing this on my phone, so the format might look a bit weird. Sorry about that. It's because my computer died and now will not allow me to get on it.**

 **On another note, thank you for all of the support and compliments! They do mean a lot, and really motivate me to write!**

 **Oh yes, and I forgot to mention last chapter, someone asked if I was going to continue my other story. I guess I might, but I don't want to jump the gun just yet. Thoughts?**

 **(Pssst, did anyone see Homecoming? I just watched it earlier today, and it was great! That last end credits scene was fantastic heh. Basically saying "congrats on staying behind for 10 mins for no reason" haha).**

It was raining.

Droplets dotted the ground and slowly darkened the roads and pavements. People rushed indoors or to their cars, as dust and litter got carried away by rivulets of polluted water. The corners of the roof and the small dips on it slowly filled and became dirty puddles, the gum stuck underneath shining like river gems. Water dribbled down his bright red and blue suit, gathering in the crevices and folds of his body.

 _Fitting_ , Peter thought, as he gazed down at the apartment opposite him. _Miserable weather for a miserable day._

He wasn't quite sure why he was miserable on this particular day. He refused to believe that it had anything to do with the apartment opposite him. Nor had it anything to do with the apartment's occupants. He could never have grown attached to these people in the short time that he had been with them. No, it had to be something else. But it wasn't that something else either. No. No, he wouldn't think about that.

He stood up on the little overhanging of the roof and took aim at the next building, before slipping away, like a fish from from stream to lake.

 **.o0|O|0o.**

It wasn't like a movie, he realised for the third, most painful time. Life wasn't a movie. Not like Star Wars or Superman or Back To The Future. It was real life.  
He only had two more hours left alone before he would have to leave for the new place. The new... the orphanage. That was what it was. An orphanage. A place to store all of the kids when there wasn't enough parents to store them separately.

He wondered what it would be like. If the old Bird-Lady really was all that bad. If she really did whip children who misbehaved (as it was rumoured amongst the others). Or if he would see her at all. What if she was one of those stick-to-the-office kind of Headmistress? And then they would be left to the mercy of the other supervisors. Peter shivered (what if they were like her)? He hoped they would be... nicer.

Packing hadn't been hard. He didn't have much in the ways of physical possessions. Thomas had offered to help, but Peter turned him down, and they ended up awkwardly doing their own thing in utter silence. Not his most savoured moment.

He had said goodbye to Flash, but there weren't many other people he had to depart from. Most of them had already bid their farewells with whispering eyes and still lips. He shook his head again. No, not here. Not now.  
He whisked away with the tear-stained wind. And so what if not all of those tears came from the sky?

 **.o0|O|0o.**

The sky was a harsh gray, the buildings a sulky black, and the water the mouth of a beast, waiting to devour him. The small light that filtered through from windows and early street lamps was hard and cold.

He didn't feel like going back to the apartment. Why couldn't he just stay here forever, on this bridge, as Spider-Man? Wouldn't that be an idea...?  
But no. He couldn't. That would be the same as losing her all over again. And all of the others. It would be killing their memory; casting them aside like dirty wrappers or wilted flowers. It would be like killing Peter Parker.

There was a polarised crash against the constant white noise of the rain. At first he thought it was a scuffle, and he groaned at the thought of getting up, as Spider-Man was expected to do. Save the day, rescue the old lady in trouble. But it was a homeless cat (some kind of crossbreed, by the looks of it), that scampered out from an alley to the left of the bridge.  
In the gray light, the cat seemed to be a brownish colour, although that might have simply been grime or dried blood from previous fights. Despite the stereotypes, this cat didn't seem too clean.  
The cat had stopped a few metres away, perched on the edge of the pavement by a gutter. He felt a sort of... kinship.  
Peter bent down next to the cat, knees curled, and opened his palm out to the cat, which sniffed his hand, much like a dog. He reached a little further, going to stroke the shaggy hair under the cat's chin, but suddenly a a sharp pain stabbed at his hand, and the cat was gone. The only evidence it had even existed was the little teeth marks that spread over the side of his hand, and the dozens of hairs that now (somehow) decorated his Spidey-Suit.  
So much for that.

 **.o0|O|0o.**

Somehow, from under the little outcrop of a roof where he had stuck them, his clothes had been drenched. His jeans would be impossible to put on, but his hoodie would be stuck it on, but didn't bother with his other clothes. With his bag on his back, he swung up, onto the roof, then back down to the opposite building, through a window. There was only a matter of minutes left.

 **.o0|O|0o.**

The car window was cold against his forehead. Rain was still hurling itself against the ground and against the car, too; it dribbled down the window in streams of water.

Peter watched as the apartment building became smaller and smaller. Such a small thing, and yet it seemed to signify more than that. It felt like it was giving him one last look to say goodbye. But he didn't feel like it. He just wanted to... sleep. Lie down and sleep for a long time, until he was back at home, watching old movies with aunt May and uncle Ben, criticising the plot holes and play fighting with popcorn, and then aunt May would scold him and uncle Ben, even though she took part a little too. And it would be nice...

"Chin up, lad. I'm sure you'll find something worthwhile where you're going. Government paid, y'know!" A chuckle. "Living for free... sounds nice, don't it?" It was the driver. He worked at the orphanage, probably./div  
Peter nodded, but didn't say anything.

He sighed, and resorted to watching the rain fall.

 **.o0|O|0o.**

The room was dark. The walls were made of white plaster, the floor of worn wood. There were two bunk beds along the wall with pristine white sheets. There was one dull window, and a poster of all of the rules on the wooden door, with crisp and tidy black letters. No colour. No other furniture. Just a small room, and one fifteen-year-old boy.

He dumped himself on a bunk, and slept.


	14. Smile like teeth, teeth like malice

He was happy.

Tony Stark was not usually a happy person. He would put on a smile for the media, or grin and joke with his teammates and Rhodey, but it took a lot to be genuinely happy.

He could think of two ways that he'd feel happy: when he was with Butterfingers and Dum-E and the rest of his 'bots and Pepper too, sometimes. Joking around with the rest of the Avengers was fine, but they were only coworkers. They didn't feel like actual friends; not to him, at least. Maybe that would change, but right now, he felt as if people just didn't get along with him well.

The second way was more of a feeling of self-satisfaction. Like a piece slotting into place or a smoothly-cut slab of meat. He usually felt like this when he had solved a puzzle after the long and laborious process of figuring it out. This was the kind of happiness that he felt at this moment.

he smirked as he walked away from the Stacy household.

 **.o0|O|0o.**

 _Perfect_ , he thought. _Everything is going as planned._

 **.o0|O|0o.**

The days were long and Peter, much like the rest of the residents of the house, preferred to surreptitiously slink away from and around supervisors than to confront them, even without conversations.

They weren't so bad, he supposed, but there was something about them. Something off. Call it his Spidey-Sense, but they just seemed a little too strict, a little too straight, a little too grey. Something about them was strange. Or maybe he was just being paranoid— it wouldn't surprise him, to be honest.

Peter sighed as he dug himself deeper into the white sheets of his bed, hearing it creak and groan at his weight. He was tired and his eyes were barely open, but there had been a constant headache in the back of his mind for a while now, and he couldn't sleep with it. It had been the faintest of mumblings a few days ago, like voices in a distant room, but now it sounded as if the voices had approached to just behind the door of his room. Warning voices. They were telling him something. Something was approaching.

He curled away from it all, enclosing himself in a pocket of sheets, and tried to block it all out.

 **.o0|O|0o.**

Peter Parker.

That was his name. He knew it. Gwen's boyfriend all the way up until a few months ago. Who else could it be?

Coffee in hand, he sat on the kitchen island, going through blue file after blue file, trying to string together evidence, see the small scraps of truth into a story. Peter Parker... a mystery. There was almost nothing on his connections to Spider-Man. He was just a normal school kid. Into photography, science, almost all of the teachers loved him. Very smart. Quiet. Well-behaved. A little late to class... he snickered when he saw that last one. Maybe he'd take him under his wing, if he could pry him away from Fury's claws.

"What are you up to?" He jumped a little to see Captain Spangly-Pants in the room. Hadn't even noticed him.

Well, might as well get his hopes up. It's Peter that they're after, but it'd be fun to see Cap's hopes crash to the ground on the off chance that he's wrong. Which he's not. "I think I know who Spider-Man is."

His eyes lit up. Seriously, he's like an actual puppy. Is everyone sure that this guy is a murderer? In the name of all things good, of course, but still. He killed tons of Chitauri. "Really? When are we going to go after him?"

"Whenever you want, I guess." Who needs solid evidence? He's probably right, anyway.

He nodded, nibbling at an apple. Where did he get that from-? Oh right, there's a fruit bowl on the table. Pepper is rather insistent on their health. "So... what's he like?"

 **.o0|O|0o.**

It had been a mistake to try and find Peter Parker— a big mistake. He didn't even know how it happened. How he _let_ it happen. Was he so out of shape? So old, unpracticed? How had he not noticed? How had he been defeated?

He had to remind himself of the breathing exercises Bruce had taught him to keep him calm. Measure each well, breathe with your entire body, feel your lungs fill, and exhale through your nose. Five seconds in, eight seconds out.

Blood gushed from his thigh, thick and red and singing songs of death. His normally blue-armoured leg was soaked red and wet and sticky. It was his only injury, but it was deep. He couldn't walk.

Tony was even worse. He had packed his armour, but left it on the plane for the short stop they had been planning. He was covered in blood— red but without gold.

In fact, where was Tony? His breath stopped for a moment, sputtering to a stop and making him choke on his spit. He tried to spit it out, but it only dribbled down in his chin.

Five in, eight out.

He almost felt lost. What could he do now? The jet was gone; he had heard it take off. What else did he have? He tried to think it over. He had to repeat it over a few times.

A tracker. Implanted into his suit— a tracker. Although he supposed it wouldn't be too unusual if they stopped in place for a while. Who had access to that data, anyway? Tony? Fury?

A wallet? But that was in his bag— also in the jet.

Phone? Phone... radio! He had a radio! It was turned off, and not tuned in to the communal frequency that the Avengers used (Tony and him had chosen a new one for this mission), but he could fix that. He still had his arms. He still had his arms.

He still had his arm.

Covered in blood, probably a little too close to passing out for his liking despite his mild healing factor, he used one arm to tune in his radio.

 **.o0|O|0o.**

Morning came with the dreaded crack of a wooden slap. The door had burst open.

A menacing woman stood in the doorway, the look on her face like an anticipatory lion's. Her teeth shined with imminent danger, her skin crumpled and sagging but still somehow managed to look terrifying.

She grabbed the brass ringer from her belt, and shook it like a death bell. If everyone hadn't been awake yet, they were now. And yet, the sound of it couldn't even dream of contending with the screaming in the back of his head.

"Get up, get up!" She sounded like a stalking lioness. "It's seven o'clock!" Peter didn't even have to look at a clock to know that it was six. "I want you all down in five minutes!" Fifty seconds. With that, she fled from the groaning room with a flap of dark cardigan.

Peter punched his face into his pillow with exhaustion and nudged his feet to fold away the duvet. Fifty seconds wasn't long. The other boys, just as tiredly, began to drop from their beds with the slow countenance of zombies. Peter was last to the floor, and last out the door. Fifty seconds be damned.

He pushed his feet to the stairs and stumbled down each step (if not for his spider abilities, he might have fallen down them).

The kitchen was clean, the lights were bright and hard, and his fingers stung with detergent every time he touched a surface.

He felt nothing as the face of the old lady from before looked at him disapprovingly, not saying a word. Her look was enough.

The chair was cold and hard and he slouched over the table, letting his overgrown hair cloud his face from his peeping peers. "Right, now that everyone is here..." she was shooting him not-so-subtle glares, he could tell without even looking. "Distribution of jobs." The room was silent; they knew better than to complain.

Peter fell into a sleepy trance as she listed off who would be doing what that day. He would probably be stuck with taking out the rubbish and compost, or maybe washing the toilets, even though he knew that they had been done just yesterday. Or at least, he thought it was yesterday.

He was a little surprised when he got poked in the shoulder by a little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes (familiar). He was usually set those tasks on his own— probably because he was hated by the supervisors there or something. He couldn't be bothered to ask, so he just followed after the girl and her friend (a boy with stringy dark hair and a crumpled darker face) as they walked towards a door. He couldn't remember where it lead.

Quite suddenly, he was outside, and the low sun was beating into his eyes, trying to force happiness on him or something. Or maybe it was just being mean. Or maybe it was an inanimate object with no ulterior motive. Who knew?

Why was he outside again? He could not remember. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to remember. He wasn't usually allowed outside because they didn't want him (a lowly disheveled teenager) to be seen as a representative of what it was like inside the orphanage. Why was he outside?

He sighed, a shiver of steam slipping from his lips. Autumn. Was it that late in the year already? Hadn't it been Spring recently? Maybe he was just over-thinking it.

He was sagging behind the other two, who looked to be chatting animatedly (or maybe that was normal talking, it just seemed happy to him?) a few metres ahead. He couldn't make his body move any faster than this. He was tired.

He was so, so tired.

So tired, in fact, that he didn't notice the man that he bumped into. He almost thought that it was a wall, to be honest, but then he remembered that his spidey-sense wouldn't let him bump into a wall. Actually, it wouldn't let him bump into anything, would it? Why hadn't he noticed?

He regretted trying to tune into his spidey-sense. Mistake, mistake, bad, bad, bad. It was shrilly screaming: a siren, an alarm, a terror-filled room. The voices weren't outside the door anymore, they were right in his ear.

Taking a step forward, he went to walk past the wall (which was actually a man) but was jolted to a stop almost violently. He was a little confused, but tried again, only for the sameness result. What–? Oh. Someone had his arm.

A croak came from his mouth. He had intended for it to be a question, but really, he hadn't spoken much in the past few weeks, so what did he expect? "H-huh?" He cleared his throat. "Ye-es?" His voice broke half way through anyway. Oh well. He was too tired to be embarrassed.

He tried to look up, but he could barely see... whatever he was looking at. A face? ... A face. A familiar face. Where did he know this face from?

The winning smile reminded him. "Hey, kid. Got a moment?"

Maybe once he would have jumped for joy at the notion. Of even speaking a word to Tony Stark, he would've, but really, he was too tired. Way too tired. And not in the mood for talking. Hadn't he been trying to avoid this guy, anyway? Oh yeah— they were hunting him or something. He hadn't been Spider-Man in a while, though. "N-n... not-t today. Not today."

 **.o0|O|0o.**

Loki's grin was wide, filled with teeth, and held no joy whatsoever.

"Too bad."

 **A/N: So. Here we are again. How long has it been? Idk. I'm not even keeping track anymore. I bet most people have forgotten this exists. For those of you who haven't... it will be finished. Even if it takes years. So... uhh... sorry for the wait. Sorry.**

 **Uhh, bye, I guess.**


End file.
